This Band of Brothers
by Imogen74
Summary: Braime fix it fic. On his way to King's Landing, after leaving Brienne sobbing in the cold, Jaime runs into Arya and Sandor Clegane. They make friends. We'll follow Jaime as his redemption arc is redeemed. Angsty. Sometimes funny.
1. Chapter 1

It was hateful.

He had left her there. But after her tears dried, it wasn't loss she felt.

It was anger.

Anger, brimming through the tears that streaked her face, and she hated him. They stung as they clung to her cheeks, the cold of the North biting her skin, making the tears burn.

How could he do this to her, after the weeks they'd spent in near bliss?

She turned and went back to her room, feeling as though she might be sick.

She swallowed the bile, and sat on the edge of the bed, hating that, too…for it was there that he'd held her, there that she'd known love.

And they'd laughed…smiled so much that her face felt numb.

Now it felt only cold.

She almost wished that he'd never came knocking on her door three weeks ago. Or that she'd pretended to be asleep. Or she'd chucked him out as soon as he said, "You keep it warm enough in here."

Or slapped his hand away when he'd reached for her shirt.

So many times she could have avoided this moment.

Brienne of Tarth laid back and hated Jaime Lannister. She hated him for leaving her there to be alone while he went back to his sister.

She turned over, refusing to cry any more. She wouldn't…not another tear. And unbidden she thought about what he'd said…how he was a bad person.

Hateful.

Because of all the things he'd done for Cersei.

He'd killed, maimed…other unspeakable things…for her.

She sat up.

He said he'd done those things…for her. Not for love. He hadn't said the word _love_ once. He didn't love Cersei. He hated her.

And he was trapped.

Brienne stood. He was going to King's Landing to kill Cersei…to be free of her. She covered her mouth.

He'd left Cersei.

Abandoned her to ride North to fight.

He'd said that he hated the North, but was ready to stay there with her…with Brienne.

And he'd left when he discovered that a dragon was dead.

Because he was concerned that she'd win.

"My god," she whispered.

She would not be sleeping that night.

* * *

Brienne walked into the hall, riding clothes on. "Pardon me, My Lady, but I'd like a word."

Sansa looked up from a scroll and smiled. "Of course."

She cleared her throat. "Ser Jaime left late last night for King's Landing."

She canted her head. "He's done what? Left us?"

"He has."

"Oh, Brienne. I am sorry…"

"Never mind that. I believe he's gone to…" she cleared her throat. "To tend to unfinished business, of particular interest to you and the North. But I fear for his safety as well as his state of mind," Brienne shifted her weight and cleared her throat. "I am come to beg your permission to make journey to King's Landing."

"To stop him?"

"To…" to do what, exactly? "To find him. Help him if I can."

"Help him…" Sansa swallowed. "I know that you love him."

Brienne's eyes fell. "I do, My Lady. I'm sorry."

"What for? The Night's Watch surrenders all notions of love and the like. Not the Kingsguard."

She sighed, and looked at her again. "I must make haste, for it's likely that he rode through the night."

"I'm planning on making the journey tomorrow. I'm hoping to make some good come of this mess, and perhaps even have a say in what happens to my country. Will you wait?"

She blanched. "I apologize, Lady Sansa, but…"

"But you need to find Jaime Lannister. I understand."

Brienne smiled. "Thank you."

"You're leaving now, then?"

She nodded. "Podrick will come with me. We are ready to leave now."

"Very good. I hope it works out for you," she stood. "And that I'll see you soon."

Brienne bowed and left the room for Pod in the back.

She walked with purpose out to the courtyard. She was desperate to get on the road. She wasn't sure if he'd taken the King's Road, but she had no reason to think that he hadn't. It was the quickest route, and if King's Landing's eyes were turned inward, there was no reason to think that there would be patrols…especially with more than half of the country now pledged to Daenerys Targaryen.

"Morning Pod," she mounted the horse.

"I can't believe we're going back there, Ser."

"Well, Ser Jaime is en route, and we are following."

"Why's he off to the Landing?"

She looked at him. "To kill Cersei."

* * *

The King's Road was covered in snow…not deep, but it was pervasive. The cold felt less biting than it did in the North.

He had travelled through the night and made some good ground. He was exhausted. He'd need to stop soon to eat and rest.

But moving kept his mind off of things…kept him busy and not thinking about…her.

Jaime looked at the sky. What he was doing really made little sense. How would he be received? Likely with a sword.

She wanted to kill him for treason.

And he was treacherous, but not just how Cersei thought. He was about to abandon her and her rule for what she considered to be the enemy.

And he wasn't sorry. Not even slightly.

And to him, that was what was treacherous.

He didn't love Cersei. Probably hadn't in a while.

What was it that made him realize that she was beyond hope? He stopped his horse. An inn was just there. He needed to eat. Jaime dismounted and went over, opening the door.

He sat at a table.

And a knife fell from above him and was stuck in the wood in front of him. He looked up.

"Running, are you?" Arya Stark was standing there, a malevolent look on her face.

"No. You?" he sat back.

"No. I don't run," she sat across from him.

"I believe that," he nodded.

"What are you doing?" Arya's face was impassive.

He swallowed. "What are _you _doing? You're a hero. You should be with your sister…"

"My sister is fine. And my business in unfinished."

He nodded. The barman came over. Arya looked at him. "Everything he wants. I'll take it."

Jaime raised his eyebrows. "I have gold."

"Oh, I know. But we might be here a while," she looked at the keep. "Bring him ale and the stew. It was quite good."

"So. Here we are," he rested his chin on his left palm.

She sat back. "Here we are. An unlikely pair."

He smiled, and sat back himself. "Where are you going?"

"King's Landing."

"Curious. So am I."

"Off to join your sister, are you? I should have slit your throat after all."

The food and ale came. "Perhaps you should have. It likely would have spared at least a few people some pain," he sipped and took a spoon.

"Who else have you caused pain to?"

"Why do you hate me?"

"I don't hate you. But you're acting like a traitor. And that I don't like."

"You're right. I am a traitor. But not to who you think," he drank deeply. Jaime heard the door close behind him and watched as Arya's gaze followed whoever had walked in. He turned. "Fuck."

Sandor Clegane walked over. "Well. If it isn't the older Lannister cunt."

He smiled. "Such terms of endearment."

"What are you doing here?" Clegane sat next to Arya, across from Jaime.

"He's traveling to King's Landing," offered Arya. "What do you think, Sandor? Shall I slit his throat?"

"While the two of you discuss my death, perhaps I'll finish this excellent stew and reserve a bed," Jaime took another bite.

"Why are you going to King's Landing?"

"You know, we fought alongside each other not a month ago. Some kindness should be offered," Jaime looked at both of them.

Arya swallowed. "He's right. He left Cersei and fought with us. And survived."

"But is he running back to his sister? If he was able to leave her, come North, swear allegiance…he can do it again in reverse."

Jaime sighed. "I don't know what I'm going to do when I reach King's Landing. I have some ideas, but rest assured. I'm not committing treason again. Think about what you're saying. Cersei is a lot of things. Stupid isn't one of them. Who can get to her? Who will she listen to?"

"What? _You're_ going to try to talk to her?" Arya laughed.

"I honestly don't know. But if it's all the same to you…" he finished the stew and called the keep.

"We're going with you," Arya handed the keep money.

"Sorry?"

She looked at Sandor, who sighed. "We are going to travel together. Might as well. All heading the same place," she smiled.

Jaime looked at her, then Clegane. He shrugged. "Suit yourself. I'm leaving in an hour, right after I get some sleep," he stood. "Thanks for lunch," and he left.

And he went upstairs, exhausted. Pleased he was exhausted, as it would disallow any reverie.

The one thing he couldn't afford.


	2. Chapter 2

He watched as Arya Stark mounted her horse, Clegane following behind. "You coming?" he called to Jaime.

Jaime didn't answer, but kicked the horse. He had gotten a bit of sleep, and felt somewhat human. King's Landing was still a while away…he hoped that things would still be standing when they arrived.

A fork presented, and the pair in front of him had stopped. "What's going on?"

"Clegane thinks we should avoid the King's Road," said Arya.

"What for?" asked Jaime, looking from one to the other.

"It's busy. Going through the forests and fields is safer."

"You do realize that we'll add days to the journey. And who will be on the Road? Everyone is either North, recuperating from battle, or South, preparing for it."

"We're going to take the forests," said Arya with some defiance.

"Maybe you are, but I'm taking the King's Road," Jaime began to direct his horse right…

…when a knife wizzed passed his face and stuck a tree.

"We take the forest," said Arya, retrieving her knife.

"You know, you may miss some day," Jaime looked at her starkly.

"I haven't yet, but there's a first for everything," she smiled, turning and riding into the trees.

He sighed. How did he end up in these situations? "We stop only to sleep," he said, passing them both.

* * *

They rode on through the forest, Jaime's posture bent atop his horse. He needed to keep a cool head, this wasn't going to be easy, whatever the fuck he thought he was doing. He heard the Hound and Arya talking behind him…but only sporadically and he didn't pay much attention to it. He needed to concentrate. Mind wandering would only produce thoughts unbidden and painful.

They stopped many hours later at the edge of the forest. Clegane left to retrieve wood for a fire, Arya had killed a few birds and Jaime set up the camp. Tomorrow he'd get the birds. These were much too small.

"Here," Arya handed him some wine following the sparse meal.

He took it, and drank.

"Why did you come to the North, and why are you leaving?" she asked him.

Clegane looked up, interested.

"I told you why. I made a promise to fight for the living, and now I'm extending that to King's Landing."

"Cersei wants to kill everyone? That won't leave much to rule."

"Cersei doesn't care for anyone beyond herself," Jaime muttered into the fire.

"Not even you? I thought that she loved you, if no one else," Arya took the wine from him and drank.

Jaime cleared his throat and looked at them both. "I know that you both look on me in disgust, and part of me doesn't blame you. You don't know my story, and I sure as hell don't know yours. But I …" he looked away. "It's true. I did love her. More than anything, really. But that faded long ago. How long, I'm not sure," he looked up at them once more. "This fact must remain between us. No one can know."

"Not even Brienne of Tarth? I thought that you were staying at Winterfell…" Arya began.

Jaime stood.

Clegane stood, his hand suddenly on this sword.

"Don't mention her," he breathed.

"Why? Did she hurt you?" Arya asked.

He shook his head, swallowing. "No. It's too painful."

Clegane sat again. "He left her. And he's sick over it…look at his face," he nodded to Jaime.

Arya considered Jaime for a moment before he sat down again. "Why? Why would you leave her?"

"You've got room," Clegane began.

She side-eyed him. "Never mind that," and looked at Jaime for an answer.

He was shaking his head. "Not now. I can't talk about that now," he sat back. Everything suddenly hurt.

Arya canted her head. "You do love her, don't you?"

Nothing.

"What did Bran mean when he said 'The things we do for love'? He said that to you…"

Jaime swallowed. There was no way he would tell them this now. She'd slit his throat without a pause. "He heard me say it to Cersei."

Arya nodded. "You must love deeply," she said softly.

"Don't mock me," he said.

"I'm not. It's more that…" Arya sat back. "I suppose I'd never thought of you as someone who loved deeply."

"No," Jaime replied. "You thought of me as someone who broke vows, had no honor, and fucked his sister."

Ayra laughed a touch.

"At least one of them's right," Clegane said. "Probably two. You did break at least one vow, and you fucked your sister."

Jaime looked at him, smirking. "Yes. And I fathered all of her children. And I know what she is. Which makes me the most likely to successfully gain access to her…unless…"

"Unless?" Arya asked.

"Unless she's so far gone that nothing will reach her. Which will leave me dead," he ended quite matter-of-factly.

"You don't care about dying?" Clegane asked. "Seems like you've got something to live for, from where I sit."

Jaime looked at the fire. "I don't know. From where you sit, I'm a very different man."

Arya leaned forward, looking at Jaime intently. "I've seen a lot. And what I've seen had taught me that everyone has good and bad in them. No one is completely one or the other. You included, Jaime Lannister," she sat back again. "Don't give up on yourself or your one chance at happiness. It likely won't come round again."

He looked at her. "You're wise beyond your years, Arya Stark."

"What about your happiness?" Clegane asked her.

"He wouldn't have made me happy. That's not who I am."

Jaime looked between the both of them. He'd ask tomorrow evening what that all meant. "Best get some rest," he said, and he stood to get into the makeshift bed he'd made for himself. It wasn't much, but it would stave off the deep cold.

* * *

The sun seemed brighter that morning, and it shone amaranthine in the pale sky. The trio was tired, for sleep was fraught with many wakings from the cold.

Not much was said, and they met not a soul through the wood. But Jaime recognized that they were but a full day's journey from the Twins, which they would travel west of. It also meant that they'd likely be seeing people, as they were heading through more populated areas. They'd need to keep careful.

Long through the day they rode, as long as the day could be, for winter robs so much of the sun's light…Clegane being much stronger than Jaime would have thought. The man certainly appeared to be worse for wear. But then, if he'd learned anything, it was not to come to conclusions so readily about people. Arya, for instance. Sansa. And…

His throat closed and he swallowed. Stop it, Jaime. You're not to think of her.

Camp was divided differently that night because Jaime had said, "I'll get the birds tonight. You're feeding two grown men in addition to yourself, and those sparrows hardly satisfied _you._"

Arya went to complain, but Sandor told her that they'd switch off duties until they reached the Landing, so she kept her tongue.

Jaime stoked the fire after dinner, their only meal of the day. He sat back down and looked at them. Conversation had been next to nil during the meal. "Arya Stark."

She looked at him.

"Tell us your story."

"My story?" she narrowed her eyes.

"I'm certain that it's enthralling. When I'd seen you last, you'd been but a girl. Now, you're one of the fiercest assassins in the Seven Kingdoms. How did that come to pass?"

She looked at Sandor. "I only know bits of it," the Hound was rapt.

She sighed. "Well, it began when the Lannisters rode up North with Robert Baratheon…" and on she went. She seemed as though she hadn't spoken in years. How she wanted nothing to do with being a Lady. How she had learned at the knee of Syrio, the water dancer. How she escaped after her father was executed. Her adventures with Tywin Lannister, Gendry and Hot Pie at Harrenhall…their escape. How she met the Hound, escaped _him_, went to Braavos, learned to be a Faceless Man at the House of Black and White. She told them about her list…even though Sandor knew about it already. How she pretended to be a boy. She pretended to be anything that would allow her to complete her list.

She talked long into the night…"And Cersei is the last living person on my list."

Jaime was transfixed. "That is quite a tale. I don't envy my sister."

"I'm not sure why I told you, of all people, my story," she downed her wine.

"You know, we aren't enemies any longer. We are on the same side," he raised his own cup. "And I, for one, am grateful for that," he smiled, drinking.

"But I've only told Sansa the whole of it," Arya said.

"I suppose that makes me your brother, then. And Clegane here."

She looked at Jaime, and then laughed.

He smiled at her. "What did Sandor mean last evening when he said, 'You've got room'?"

Clegane cleared his throat. "Best own it, Arya. You've told the Lannister everything else."

She dropped her gaze. "Gendry proposed to me."

"And you rejected him?"

Arya nodded.

"That's wise."

"It is?"

"Well," began Jaime. "You've said you're not a Lady. And if he means to treat you as one, then it's doubtful you'd be very happy."

"See? Even Jaime sees it my way," she looked at Sandor.

The Hound shrugged. "What's he know? He's hardly a good example of a good relationship. He was fucking his sister, then he went and fucked Brienne, only to leave her for his sister."

"Shut your mouth," Jaime said with venom.

"Why? Isn't that what happened?"

He swallowed, and looked into the fire. "I'll tell you what happened. But not tonight. It's too…"

"He's hurting, Sandor. Leave him alone."

"Everyone hurts. He needs to grow the fuck up," Clegane stood.

Jaime followed him with his gaze. "You're going to hit me?"

"No. I'm going to take a piss. You feel too much, Lannister. Time to grow some calluses on that cock of yours," he spat. "Not that Brienne would like it then. Or maybe she would…"

Jaime stood. "I told you not to mention her. I let it go a moment ago. I shan't again."

Clegane ignored this. "She nearly killed me, you know. Pity she didn't. Maybe you'll set it right…" he looked him up and down. "Nah. Don't think so."

Arya stood now. "Stop it, or I'll kill both of you. Brothers or not."

Jaime looked at her. "Are we? Brothers, I mean."

"Of course not. I'm a girl, in case it passed your notice," she smiled. "But we're as good as siblings, at least for now."

Sandor shook his head. "I've got one brother. And I'm gonna kill him," he turned away. "So if you two want to be siblings, you'd better sleep with one eye open."

Jaime watched him go, looked at Arya, then sat back down. "He's a miserable fuck."

"Yeah. He's had a time," she sat down now.

"Haven't we all. As you've evidenced by your story," he nodded and poured more wine.

"What about you…Kingslayer, was it?"

"It was. I'll tell you all about it."

"But not tonight," Arya finished for him.

"Right," he sighed. "It means something to me that you want to be my sister."

"Don't get any ideas," she laughed.

And he returned it. "You're quite safe with Clegane and I."

"I know it. That's why I said we were siblings. Even if it's just on this journey."

Jaime canted his head. "I swear I won't abandon you once we reach the Landing. Unless you want me to."

She smiled. "You know. ..I do believe that you're a good man after all, Jaime Lannister."

He swallowed. "You may change your mind once you know my story."

"No. I don't think I will," she got up. "I'm gonna take a piss. See you in the morning," and she left.

He went to his bed and heard Sandor come back and lay down. "If you hurt Arya, I'll kill you," he said into the darkness.

"I swear I'll hurt neither of you. And everything I do once we reach the Landing will be to protect those I care for," he replied.

"I believe you. And if you betray us, you'll…"

"Die. I understand."

"Not just die, Lannister…"

Jaime sighed. "Yes yes. I'm sure you'll make me suffer."

"And Ser Brienne of Tarth. So mind yourself."

Jaime rolled onto his side. Every mention of her name was like a pierce to his heart. He died a little inside with every passing day…

He closed his eyes and dreamed of blue skies.


	3. Chapter 3

He woke with tears streaming down his face.

Jaime rubbed them off, sitting up…his breath steaming in front of him. He looked over at Clegane, still snoring.

Arya was gone.

He laid back down.

He had dreamed of her…they had been sitting on a rock by the sea, and she had been crying, just as she had when he left her. It was terrible.

"Come on, Sandor. We've got to go," Arya's voice hampered his reverie.

He wasn't sorry.

* * *

The day's light seemed a bit longer. Jaime thought that it must mean that they were covering a good bit of ground.

"Let's move more westward…" Jaime pointed. "Avoid the Twins. Stay east of the Eyrie."

The Hound nodded, Arya didn't offer anything, but followed.

They rode into the night, for Jaime was concerned that their delays might make the entire journey pointless. And he meant to act.

The firelight obscured their faces a bit. They were all tired…no one had spoken much. Jaime sat forward. "What's your story, Clegane?" he sighed, rubbing his face with his hand.

"My story? You don't wanna hear my story."

"Of course I do. We're brothers, aren't we?"

Arya smiled and looked at Sandor. "Aren't we?"

Clegane huffed. "Who'd have thought I'd be brothers with a Lannister cunt."

"Not I," said Jaime. "Fess up, Clegane."

"What about you? You ever gonna loosen those lips?"

He looked at the fire and sat back. "Tomorrow."

Sandor looked at Arya. "She knows most of it."

"He doesn't. Just talk, will you? What else are we going to do?"

Clegane sat back and took the wine. "My parents were miserable fucks. I still don't know why they had kids. We lived at Clegane Keep…"

"Just south of Casterly Rock," supplied Jaime. "I know it."

"Am I telling this fucking story or are you?"

"Apologies," Jaime said. "Please go on."

Sandor rolled his eyes. "Gregor, my horse shit head for a brother would beat me up every fucking day. I was nine, and I was playing with one of his wooden swords. He hadn't been playing with it. In fact, he hadn't played with it in ages…so I picked it up. And he found me…got mad with anger, and took my face and put it into the fire…"

"My god," said Jaime.

"You interrupt one more fucking time…"

Arya put her hand on his shoulder. "He didn't interrupt that time. Relax, will you?"

He shook his head, swatted her hand away. "Anyway…" and he told them about how he had achieved a Knighthood, how he fought for the Baratheon's. How he became disillusioned with Knighthood…how he served the Lannister's despite his loathing. And how he came to care for Sansa, trying to convince her to come with him but failed. How he met up with Arya, and after she attempted to kill him numerous times, kidnapped her for ransom.

How they meet Brienne, how she nearly killed him. How he was nursed back to health. How he found the farmer and his daughter, who he'd stolen from, dead, and how that changed him.

"There's not much that's good in this life. Life is horse shit. It's about breathing. Eating. Fucking. But sometimes it's about something a bit more. I want to kill my brother, and that's my more."

"How is murder your more?" asked Jaime.

"I could ask you the same thing. But ridding the world of good for nothings, making life something better for some. That's what it is."

Jaime nodded. "I understand."

"I believe you do."

Arya looked at Sandor. "That's all we are. Taking out the garbage people to spare the ones who aren't."

"Fighting for the innocent," Jaime said.

Clegane threw a bone into the fire. "I hate my fucking life," he looked at Arya. "But you deserve not to," he looked at Jaime. "And I'm still waiting to see if you do."

"But we're brothers," he smiled. "Surely familial ties, even if they're adopted ones, are worth something."

"Shut up about the brother shit. If you're worthy of being saved, I'll say so. As of right now, I'm reserving judgment."

"That's fair."

Arya stared into the fire. "I lost two of my brothers," and she glanced at them both. "Probably all three. It's nice, if even a little while, to pretend I've got two back."

Jaime furrowed his brow. "Jon is…"

"…not my brother. Not anymore."

"Do you hate Daenerys that much?" Jaime asked.

"No. I mean he's not my brother."

"I don't understand."

Clegane sighed. "Should you really do this? Can you trust him?"

"I trusted you," she replied. And she looked at Jaime, swallowing. "Jon isn't my brother. He's my cousin, and his name is Aegon Targaryen."

Jaime's mouth fell open. "His name is…"

"Aegon. He's the son of Lyanna Stark and Rhaegar Targaryen. My father raised him as a bastard to protect him, as his sister's dying wish."

"But this means that…that Jon, or Aegon…he's entitled to the Throne."

"He doesn't want it."

Jaime couldn't believe his ears. It was mad. "He doesn't want the Throne. Is that why you left?"

"It was one reason. Sansa is fine where she's at. And Jon…he'll fight for Daenerys because she wants it, and it's a way to avoid it."

He swallowed. "Who knows this?"

"I'm not sure."

Jaime leaned forward. "No one can know. If Cersei finds out, she'll have him killed."

"It's impossible to know who knows. I've only told you two, but Sansa…I'm not sure."

Sandor sighed. "Stop thinking so hard, Lannister. You'll hurt yourself."

Jaime looked at Clegane and laughed. "It's a lot of information. I'm in some shock."

"Think about what I experienced," Arya said softly.

"Of course. You lost a brother, gained a cousin, and have knowledge that could destroy the country."

Arya looked down. "I'm tired," she stood and went to her bed, leaving the two men there.

Clegane looked over at Jaime. "What are you thinking?"

"I'm thinking that I don't know a fucking thing."

"Well, you're not wrong. But what are you planning on doing with the information?"

Jaime looked up at him. "Nothing."

Clegane nodded. "Good. It isn't yours to give."

"No. And I honestly don't want to get in between Daenerys Targaryen and the Iron Throne."

"That Targaryen cunt," he spat.

"Is everyone a cunt to you, Sandor?" he smiled.

"Nearly," he stood. "See you in the morning…" he paused. "Brother."

Jaime swallowed as he watched Clegane get into bed. What did this mean? Ned Stark's bastard son was heir to the Iron Throne…

* * *

The next day it snowed and the horses were tired. They had been pushing them hard…a fortnight's journey would certainly be halved at this point.

So they rode for only a few hours before Clegane insisted that they stop. "It'll do no good to ride them lame."

Jaime couldn't argue. "Let's find an inn. There should be some around. And I'd give my other hand for a warm bed," he paused. "I'll pay to have the horses taken care of. In fact, I'll pay for the lot."

Arya smiled. "Let's do it."

They rode for a bit longer before they came upon an inn. Jaime went to the keep to arrange for beds, the horses, and order dinner for them all.

When he joined Arya she said that Sandor was taking a walk.

"What for? Not enough fresh air?" he laughed.

"No…his legs get sore after riding for so long. He's getting old, I guess."

"You know him quite well," he drank some wine, then poured her some.

"I do. Yes. And though I have gone through times of wanting to kill him, he means something to me."

"That's called family, Arya."

She smiled. "You have one of the oddest relationships with your family that I can think of."

Jaime swallowed. "I love Tyrion very much."

She waited, but he didn't elaborate. "And Cersei, at least for most of your life."

He sighed. "I loved them all at one point. And still do, I suppose. But that doesn't change who or what they are."

"Do you really aim to kill her?" she asked softly.

His gaze was sad, but fierce when he looked at her. He nodded…"I am terrified, though. She is poison, and she knows me. Better than almost anyone. And she will know what to say to try and get what she wants."

"Best not be alone, then."

He canted his head. "What do you mean?" the food came, but Sandor wasn't back yet.

"I'll be there. I'll go with you. And hide…she won't see me. And if you find you can't do it, send a signal and I will."

"But she's on your list. You want to be the one…"

Arya nodded. "She's ruined your life, Jaime. You should do it, if you can."

He swallowed. The idea of Cersei's death was suddenly quite real, staring at him in his face in the shape of an eighteen year old Arya Stark.

And a few months ago, he would have tried to kill this girl for even suggesting this, but now, he rather loved her for it. She would be there with him. "I should adopt you," he said, eating some meat.

"I don't need a father."

"No. Ned Stark was a better father than I ever was. Or could be."

"I do need a brother, though."

"And you have it," he drank, more pleased than he had been since Winterfell.

Clegane emerged then, and sat next to Arya.

And unbidden, he thought about the baby that Cersei was supposed to be carrying. He wasn't sure if he believed her, but killing her, while she was pregnant. Well. That would be difficult. Yet there was no way to know for certain…

…except that she should be showing by now. If she was, he may not be able to kill her. If she was, he may not even be able to _see_ her.

"What are you thinking about, Lannister?"

"Nothing," but he was pale. He wasn't going to tell them about the baby. That, and Bran. They were off limits…"Eat. And then we all have beds."

"No," said Clegane.

"Sorry? No?" Jaime offered a bemused look.

"Your turn."

"My…?"

"He wants you to tell your story," said Arya.

Jaime sat back. "Ah, yes. My story. I did promise, didn't I?"

Clegane nodded. "I'm hoping that you're going to tell me something that won't make me hate you, but I've got my doubts."

"Do you hate me still, Sandor? That hurts."

"Fuck off and talk, Lannister."

Jaime sat forward to pour more wine for them all. He looked around the place, scouting for familiar faces, or colors. No one appeared to be aligned with any particular house. "Then I'll offer the story that offers both high and low points.

I grew up on Casterly Rock. A lovely place, really. And I wanted, more than anything, to be a Knight. And not just any Knight, but Lord Commander of the Kingsguard. My father was wily. He knew people better than anyone, and my sister learned at his knee.

When Tyrion was born and my mother died, something happened. Something snapped, in her. In Cersei. She was different…we were…what? Eight? And she latched herself to me. She wouldn't leave me alone. She hated the baby. Wouldn't go near him…I thought he was adorable, and I'd hold him when neither she nor my father would. It wasn't his fault our mother died. But they both seemed to blame him.

After a few years…" he swallowed. "I was planning on leaving for King's Landing. To become a Knight. The night before I left, Cersei came to my room…and…" he closed his eyes. "I won't get into the details, but that was the first time. And though I knew it was wrong, I couldn't bring myself to be disgusted. I loved my sister, more than anything. And, in my fourteen year old mind, it was a logical progression.

I suppose I never escaped those thoughts.

When she married Robert Baratheon, I was devastated. By then, we'd been together for three years. She was the only woman I'd ever known. She told me, and to this day, I can hear her saying it…'Don't be ridiculous. Do you honestly think I could ever love that beast? Nothing is going to change.' And it didn't. And I fathered her children that she passed off as Robert's. And subterfuge, lying, denying, hiding…it all became commonplace," he paused, and drank, still not looking at them. "You both know much of what follows. Robert's rebellion…" he looked. "Ah. But you want to know how and why I killed the King."

"No," said Arya.

"Yes," said Sandor.

Jaime nodded. "I suppose I have to. Even though I've only told one other person the whole story," and he did. About the wildfyre. About the pyromancer. And how Aerys was going to kill everyone in King's Landing…

Neither spoke.

Jaime looked at them. "That's what happened. And King Robert sat on the Throne," he cleared his throat. "And now we get to the part where our families are at war, Robb Stark imprisoned me for a year, and your mother, Lady Catelyn, freed me."

"She did what?" Arya asked.

He nodded. "And sent me with Brienne of Tarth to King's Landing in exchange for you and your sister's safe return to Winterfell. She made me promise, even though I didn't want to, that I'd see it through," Jaime sat back while the other two finished their dinners. "I …goaded her. Brienne. Tried numerous times to get her to fight me…did everything I could think of. But she wouldn't budge.

Until one day. And we both got captured by Bolton Bannermen. I had fought her on a bridge…and she…" he smiled. "She bested me. It was then that I realized that I was dealing with a formidable person. She was to be respected. I told her that once we camped that night that she'd be raped, multiple times, and that she shouldn't resist. She was duly horrified…" and he told them about how he lost his hand. About how they were brought back to Harrenhall, The bear. How when he rescued her and they went back to King's Landing, Cersei noticed something, and threatened her, so he sent her to look for Sansa, armed with Valarian steel.

"I lost my other children…Tommen committed suicide because his mother was mad. Myrcella was poisoned and died in my arms.

And always, along the periphery of my mind, was Brienne. I often wondered where she was…_if_ she was. Not that I wasn't upset about my children, but when terrible things happened, I would wonder about her.

Like when I saw Cersei sitting on the Throne," he paused. "That was my first glimpse of what she was," he drank and cleared his throat. "I won't get into much of the rest. Except more recent events, so that you understand my motivation…

After I saw the dead thing that Tyrion brought to the Landing, I thought that she would be moved. She wasn't. She stopped me from arranging the expedition North. She said she wouldn't be sending anyone, and if I left, she'd kill me. I told her I'd made a promise…and there, as she sat there staring at me…she died. I couldn't love someone like that. Someone who wanted to kill me for doing the right thing.

So, I came North. And there was Brienne of Tarth. Vouching for me. Trusting me with her life. And it was then that I realized that it was more than respect that I had for her. More than admiration or friendship.

I loved her.

And it was a pure, fragile thing. But I also knew that I could never love her while Cersei was alive, not the way I needed to. The way I wanted to. So I left her there, crying, in the cold."

Sandor was staring at him. "You can fuck right off," and he downed the wine.

"What?" Jaime looked at him, the tears fresh in his eyes.

"What the fuck was that? Everything bloody thing you've done has been because you love someone?"

"I …" he shook his head.

"How the fuck can I hate him now?" he looked at Arya.

She laughed. "You can't."

"Fucking Lannister cunt," he muttered.

Jaime laughed.

"Now I guess I need to worry about your ass, too," Sandor poured the wine out to them all. "You know, you hate yourself, but you're no worse than most. Better, probably. Stop hating yourself Jaime. Get yourself back to her. Make this shit hole of a life something better."

Jaime smiled. Sandor had called him 'Jaime'.


	4. Chapter 4

It had been a good idea to stay at the inn. They were much more refreshed the next morning. And the Hound was almost pleasant.

By the looks of it, they were within three days of King's Landing. They had not spotted anyone, and there had been no talk at the inn of any battle, so he was fairly confident that it either hadn't occurred yet, or it was just beginning.

There could be no luck in Cersei surrendering…he was fairly certain of that. She seldom gave up on anything.

Except him.

Jaime looked at the sky. The venom from their last meeting tasted like metal. It remained hollow in his mouth.

He did not love her anymore…yes. She was his sister, and that would never change. And part of him loved her for that reason alone.

But beyond that…no. He needed to renounce everything that she was, and he believed he had done that when he left her over two months ago now. But he hadn't, not really. As long as she lived, she had a hold on him. The child, if there _was_ a child, remained an obstacle that he could no see a way out of.

Arya had offered to take over should he fail to act. But could he allow that, even? It was his _child._ Could he stand idly by and watch her murder his own child?

He had never been a father to his other children, and when Cersei had told him that she was pregnant, he envisioned that role coming to fruition at long last.

He didn't want to think about it. He was on his way to kill her so that he might finally begin to live. It was just another thing that made him villainous, but with the god's blessing, it would be his last.

"You all right?"

He looked. "Fine," he smiled.

"Getting nervous?" Arya had saddled up next to him.

"Not exactly."

"What then?"

He sighed. "It's nothing. Not really. Just thinking about closing a chapter, and what that means."

"It's hard to start over. I've done it."

"You are probably one of the bravest people I know. How did you manage to train in Braavos? You'd never been much beyond Winterfell."

Arya laughed. "You forget. I watched my father's head get chopped off in King's Landing."

He looked away. "I didn't forget. I just chose not to remember."

"I'm sure that's the same thing," she laughed.

He shook his head. "You're something, you know. I don't think I've ever met anyone quite like you."

"Nor I you. You've done awful things, but somehow, I've forgiven you in a matter of days."

Jaime looked at her. "It's my natural charm."

"Will you two stop fucking around with stupid compliments and ride? You're slowing us down," Sandor ride past them.

Jaime followed him with his eyes. "He grows on you, you know?" …and he thought immediately of Brienne. How the North grew on her. And Tormund Giantsbane…and he felt ill. He wondered if she'd leave to find him.

"Like Greyscale, you mean?" she smiled.

"Heard that!" Sandor called.

But Jaime didn't answer.

Nor did he speak, really, for the rest of the ride.

* * *

That night's camp was less obscured by trees than their previous stops, and no one cared for it. If they were to meet anyone moving South for the battle, it would be just beyond the Twins, which was where they were.

"I wonder if Jon's army is taking the King's Road directly to King's Landing or if they're meeting up at Dragonstone first," Arya threw a stick into the fire.

"What's crawled up your ass and died?" Sandor was lounging back, his arms crossed in front of him.

Jaime looked at him. "What?"

"You've been quiet all damn day."

"Do you want me to talk? I was under the impression you wanted me to keep quiet."

"Since when does anyone, especially a Lannister, do anything I say?"

Jaime smiled. "Just thinking."

"About?"

He looked at Sandor and Arya. "Ah, well. Lots of things," he sighed.

"He doesn't want to talk, Sandor," Arya said softly.

"Who fucking cares? I don't want to be going to this fucking city, but I made a promise to myself, so here I am, with the two of you. If he's gonna mope around, he'd better tell us why."

"It's all right," Jaime took a sip of wine. "I'm thinking about facing Cersei. And what Brienne will do if I die. Or," he paused. "If I don't."

"What do you mean, if you don't? Won't she be happy?" Sandor leaned forward.

"No idea. She's probably furious with me."

"You know," Sandor turned to Arya. "He's not very smart, is he?"

Arya shrugged.

"Just relax, Jaime, will you? Do what you need to do, and then deal with whatever else. You think too much for being so fucking dumb."

"What if she's already moved on?"

"Moved on? With who?"

He swallowed. "No one in particular. Just…generally speaking."

"What the fuck is he talking about?"

"He's insecure, Sandor. He's worried that she's done with him already and has mentally left him."

"This is why I don't get involved," Sandor stood. "Too many things. I'm going to bed," and he went to piss in the woods.

"Don't mind him," Arya took her knife and started to whittle a twig.

"I don't. I actually like much more than I would have thought," Jaime looked up at the sky. "So…Gendry Baratheon proposed to you."

She glanced up. "Surprised?"

"No. But I wonder, what are your plans once you've completed your list?"

"I may never complete my list," she sharpened the point.

"What do you mean?"

She sighed and tossed the twig into the fire. "I'm thinking that this will never be finished because too many people are too awful. Do you honestly believe that Daenerys Targaryen would be a good Queen?"

"I haven't thought much about it…" he looked at her. Her eyebrows went up. "But clearly you have," he smiled. "And I'm guessing you don't. Well. What about your brother?…sorry. Cousin. Convince him to take it."

"He won't do it. And I'm not sure I'd want him to."

"Then who?"

Arya looked at him full on. "Sansa."

He laughed. "Sansa?"

"What's funny?"

"Well…isn't she…doesn't she want Winterfell?"

"Sansa has always wanted to be a Queen. And I think she'd make the best one."

Jaime shook his head. "I won't argue with you. Mostly because I think you'd win. And I don't know your sister…but I'm not sure."

"Well. I am."

He nodded. "That's good enough for me."

"So will you abandon the Northern Armies fighting for Daenerys and fight with me instead?"

He sighed. "I can't promise that. I don't know what will happen to me…"

"All right. _If_ we kill Cersei, and _if_ we survive the fight in King's Landing, will you defend Winterfell with me for Sansa?"

"Isn't she pledged to Daenerys?"

"No. She wants the North to be independent. And that's what I'm talking about. And the new Queen isn't keen on it. I'm thinking there will be another battle."

Jaime nodded slowly. "Well, as I'll likely be heading back North anyway…"

"The fuck are you two still talking for? I'm trying to sleep, for fuck sake."

Arya looked at Jaime and laughed. He stood and walked into the dark wood, thinking about the prospect of survival.

* * *

The next two days were better…the days longer and slightly warmer. Jaime, however, was getting anxious and decided it was time to lay a plan.

They sat around the fire, Jaime poured out the wine. "So, we should reach the Landing by tomorrow at this time. They won't fight at night, at least, it wouldn't make sense to. Now, Cersei will be in the Keep, along with the Mountain, so we should attempt to make our way there. We'll be mostly covered by our cloaks, but it's important to leave our heads down. I'll cover this hand," he indicated his golden one.

"Where would Cersei be if they're planning for battle? What if the battle has already started?" Arya asked.

"She will be looking on…high atop the Keep. One of the rooms with balconies."

"And if my dead brother is there with her, I'll take care of him," Sandor offered.

They both looked at him.

"This is what I'm fucking doing first. If I'm alive afterwards, then I'll find you."

Jaime nodded. "All right. Now, she'll want to talk, possibly order me dead…if she's not alone, I'll need to…"

"I'll get rid of them," said Arya. "You focus on Cersei."

"How will you…?"

"I killed the Night King, Jaime. Just trust me."

"She's right. You do what you need to do," said Sandor.

Jaime looked at them both, nodded, and looked at the fire.

"What's your signal?" Arya asked.

He rubbed his face. "If I find that I just can't do it, I'll take this hand off."

"What if you can't take your hand off? What if she ties you up?"

"Well, then it's not likely I'll be killing her tied up."

She laughed. "No. I guess not. I'll just use my instincts then."

"Careful, Jaime. I've seen her use her instincts."

Arya punched his arm.

"All right. We walk into the Landing when there's the least amount of military presence. If there's an evacuation going on because the armies are advancing, we don't split up. We stay together. And we continue to work on the plan…" he sighed. "Once they're both dead, we follow the stairs to the shore. We blend in with the fisherfolk, and we find horses there, because there will be some tethered there for the day. Yes, we'll be stealing horses, but…"

"But we're killing the fucking Queen. Somehow I doubt that anyone will really care about some horses," Sandor offered.

"The bodies will need to be hidden…" Jaime began.

"Or maybe I just hang Cersei from the Keep so that Daenerys sees her, and calls off the invasion."

Jaime paled. "That's…I don't think…"

"Don't worry. I won't," she smiled, then paused. "You know Jaime, this will work."

He looked at Arya. "Will it?"

She nodded. "The world needs us. And if we stick to the plan…"

Jaime swallowed and looked at them both. "This is going to be the most difficult thing I've ever done."

"It's good you have us," Arya smiled.

"Just keep thinking about Brienne. It'll get you through it," and Sandor Clegane stood. "See you fucks in the morning."

Jaime drank long. "I promise nothing will happen to you if I can prevent it."

"I know," she stood, ready to get to bed. "You're a good man, Jaime Lannister."

He watched as she laid down, drifting off to sleep.

* * *

The final day of travel was wrought with silence. They were tense…couldn't eat. The unknown was what plagued them the most. What they would find once they reached the Landing.

The night was spreading like a cloak over the canopy of the sky when they reached the first military line.

"Stay calm," hissed Jaime.

"What's your purpose here?" asked a soldier.

"We are merchants in the harbor," began Arya. "Coming back in to sure up our business before the battle."

The man looked at the three of them, then waved them through.

Arya winked at them both, and Sandor rolled his eyes.

"No one will think that I'm traveling with anyone," said Jaime as they rode up a rise, the highest point before the descent into the city.

"Doesn't mean you can get lazy," said Sandor. "Keep that golden hand under wraps. Better yet, take it off."

Jaime looked at him. "Good idea," and he slid the hand off and hung it in a satchel.

"Don't forget it…it's your sign," Arya said.

They rode on for another hour before they reached the next line, this time they were Lannister's. Arya gave the same excuse.

Jaime looked back at them as they continued. The Lannister forces were in a strange formation. They were also much too close the the city. That must mean that Daenerys had made a lot of progress on the ground recently, and that the battle was nigh.

Night was fully bloomed. The fires from the soldiers keeping warm by the surrounding wall glowed in the air.

"We get inside while they're tired. We make for the Keep before dawn," Jaime hissed.

And the trio marched on, entering King's Landing without incident.

They'd sleep in an alley that night, and the morning they'd begin their charge.


	5. Chapter 5

"There's an inn ahead, Ser. Should we stop?"

"No. We need to keep moving…" they hadn't seen many people on the King's Road. This concerned Brienne. Why weren't more people moving South? Was it possible that the battle was over? That no one knew about it in this part of the country?

But they were already passed the Eyrie. Only a few more days of steady travel until they reached King's Landing's city limits.

"Pardon me, M'Lady, but we've been non-stop since Winterfell…"

She looked at Pod. "Oh all right," she sounded exasperated. "Go to the keep and reserve two rooms. I'll have the horses tended to," she handed him some gold. "Order us some food."

Podrick Payne scurried off inside while she watched him. It would do no good to have an exhausted Pod.

She dismounted and stretched a bit.

Brienne nodded at the stablehand and gave him instructions. She walked in and sat at a table…she had not put her armor on in a couple of days. Pod had asked her every day, but she was trying to keep a low profile. Taking the King's Road was conspicuous enough.

And she wasn't even sure who she should be wary of. She only knew that she didn't want people recognizing her.

Pod brought ale over and sat across from her. "We got two rooms."

She nodded. "It'll be good to have a warm bed for a night."

He sipped. "What do you think we'll find at the Landing?"

Brienne looked at him. "I don't know. The Queen has a formidable force. I'm not sure what the Golden Company is used to or what they're willing to do for Cersei."

He nodded. "You are afraid."

"Only incidentally. My purpose is not to fight on a side, but to make certain that people are spared."

"You're going to look for him and try to persuade him to leave?"

"I need to do what I can."

They ate in silence and Brienne went to bed. She sat at the window and looked out into the wintery landscape. She wasn't angry anymore. She wasn't frightened, either. She was desperate. She did not want Jaime speaking to Cersei if possible…perhaps if she could get to her before him, she could do the thing that he was aiming to do. Perhaps then he would be spared the pain of murdering his sister…his former lover. The mother of his dead children.

That was love. Sacrificing yourself to spare another.

She went to bed that night when the dim was whole and the silence rang in her ears.

* * *

Sleeping in an alley was not what Jaime Lannister was accustomed to, but he did it anyway. He woke before dawn and walked to the merchant sector to get bread, though he wasn't hungry. The Golden Company was gathering in the city, preparing for whatever battle would ensue.

He went back to find Sandor and Arya awake with concerned looks on their faces.

He handed them some bread. "What's wrong?"

"She thought that you had left us."

"What?" Jaime looked at Arya.

"You weren't here. It's not the first time you've abandoned something."

"If you're talking about Cersei…"

"Well. Why not?"

He looked at her very deliberately. "I left her because I knew that she was wrong. Because she threatened me. Because I didn't love her."

She nodded and took a bite of the bread. "What now?"

He looked at the Red Keep looming over the city in the paleness of the emerging dawn. "Today is the day. Daenerys will be advancing today. We saw her armies close to here…she won't waste any more time."

Sandor stood. "Let's fucking go."

"We'll need to move when others are…so we can move closer to the Keep, but we'll need to wait until the Lannister armies emerge."

They walked down the narrow street, listening to the emerging dawn as the city braced itself for the coming attack. It hummed slightly with worry and fear.

Jaime lifted the hood on his cloak and then turned to look at the other two, indicating that they should keep their hoods on, heads down. He touched Widow's Wail. He took a deep breath.

They stole into an alcove and waited for a moment. "Just there…" Jaime canted his head. "They'll open those gates. There will be enough confusion that we should be able to get in unnoticed."

They waited there for a few minutes, tense and unmoving. The sun was peeking around the city, and the people were beginning to move about.

Slowly, the gates opened to the Keep. "Now," said Jaime after a few moments of the soldiers emerging.

…and they disappeared into the castle.

* * *

It had been two days since she arrived at King's Landing. Two days since she had been thrown into this cell.

Podrick, well, he had made a mistake. He had told the gatekeeper that they were from the North. He had been honest, not thinking that the North meant allegiance to the Targaryen Queen. And Cersei had not bothered to ask questions, she had ordered any Northerners to be imprisoned. Beneath the Keep she sat, hearing the movement of the soldiers above, knowing that the battle was forthcoming.

But Brienne was already planning her escape. He was likely nearly here. And when they came down for the morning outing, she would take on the guard herself. Steal his sword. Get Oathkeeper back…somehow.

Kill Cersei.

She'd need to come back for Podrick, perhaps once the battle had reached its zenith. No one would care about exiting prisoners by then.

Perhaps the whole thing would stall once everyone knew that Cersei was dead. There would be no need, for Daenerys could easily take the Throne by then.

So she would be patient. It wouldn't be much longer now.

* * *

They hurried through the Keep, heads down. Because everyone's eyes were fixed on the horizon of ships in the port and the soldiers below, they moved fairly easily. Arya finally took Jaime's arm and pulled him into a small room with Sandor. "Where are we going?" she hissed.

"To the Map room first, then upstairs further. If she's not in the Map room, she's already perched atop the Keep."

"I'll meet you there, then. You two go."

"What? No. We stay together, no matter what," Jaime said, brow furrowed.

"Unless I meet my shit brother. Then I'm…"

"Yes yes. You're off to kill him," Jaime rolled his eyes a touch.

"Fucking right."

"Listen. It looks suspicious…we need to blend in more, and I can blend in much better without you two giants."

"You think I'm a giant?" Jaime stood more erect, appearing to be pleased.

"Oh for fuck _sake_. You're tall," Sandor looked at Arya. "I don't like it. We're all heading for the same place. We should stick to the plan."

"I just killed the Night King," she hissed. "Don't you trust me?" she looked out into the hall, people were still bustling about. "The battle will be starting soon. What if we can stop any bloodshed before it starts with one…"

"…two," corrected Sandor.

"Two," Arya looked at him. "Deaths," then she looked back at Jaime. "I'll meet you at the top of the place. No need to stop in the Map room. It's about to begin."

"Arya," Jaime said softly. "I trust you. But I also don't want you to get lost or be killed…."

"I lived here for a while…"

"I don't care. We've got the best chance for survival if we stay together."

Arya didn't respond. She touched his arm. "It'll be over soon."

Jaime looked at her. He swallowed, then looked at Sandor. "Let's go," and he opened the door.

* * *

"Said your prayers to your god?" the man slid the plate under the bars.

"Have you?" Brienne asked, approaching.

"They've got dragons. Two of 'em. One's gone missing. That Targaryen bitch'll burn this place. Maybe to seven hells. And then when there's just the Keep standing, she'll have her crown. And everyone'll think she's gonna make everything different. But the poor'll still be poor," he was close to the bars.

"Is that so?" she smiled. She was fully in front of him now.

"You're a biggun. Ever fucked a horse, ugly?" he sneered, then laughed.

At his laughter, she grabbed his tunic, and slammed him against the bars. At the first hit, his nose broke, then the second, his head split open. The third time, his teeth were knocked out, and he went limp, unconscious. Brienne held him up with her left hand while she found the keys around his waist.

"Pod!" she hissed, fumbling with the keys on the lock.

"Ser?"

She felt some relief at his answer. She pulled the guard inside, took his sword, locked him in the cell, and went over to the other end where Podrick was imprisoned. He appeared to have been beaten. "What happened?"

"Well…they had taken me for questioning when they brought you here."

"They did?" she didn't remember that. Had she been knocked unconscious?

He nodded. "I didn't tell them anything but our names."

"Our names." That was likely not good. But with Cersei's eye fixed on the war, she might not care about Brienne. "All right. I'll come back for you."

"What? You're leaving me?"

"It's the safest option…" she paused. "Look. I don't want you following me. If I let you out, promise you'll find the Northern forces and join them."

"But…"

"Podrick."

He nodded.

And she unlocked the gate…."Now to find my sword."

* * *

They walked up the stairs, moving aside for the people coming down. There were bangs heard in the distance…which probably meant that the ships were practicing their dragon killing machinery.

Jaime picked up the pace and lurched into the hall. He turned. "Where's Arya?"

Sandor looked behind him. "That little…"

He panicked…but it was too late. Cersei was just down the hall…he'd need to act then, or he never would. He pulled the hood down. "She had better not be dead."

"What'll you do if she is? How will you know who killed her?"

"I'll hunt them all down," Jaime turned and walked to the end of the hall. The Mountain moved into view. He stopped and looked at Sandor.

The Hound's face was stoic. "There he is," he breathed.

"Careful," Jaime reached his hand to Sandor. "I'll be right there."

"Much good it'll do," but he looked at him. "Kill her. So that you can live," and he marched down to the portico.

Jaime followed. There were dead bodies strewn here and there…one was Qyburn, the Hand of the Queen. Something had happened here. He couldn't think about that now.

…for there she was, walking to the window to view the battle from on high. He paused for just a moment…

Why wasn't she showing her pregnancy? She should by now. Was it possible then, that she lied?

Of course it was.

And he hated her for using him. For everything that he'd done because of her. He touched Widow's Wail again and hid behind a column. It was just her and the Mountain. He peered round…

Sandor was standing right behind Gregor. And then….

…he plunged his sword into his back.

The Mountain fell to his knees. And Sandor pulled the sword out.

And Cersei turned at the noise.

And Jaime appeared from behind the column. "Cersei," he said.

She smirked at him as the Mountain rose and took his sword in his hand, and Sandor gripped his own sword tightly, backing up slightly.

"Well. You're here."

He walked toward her. "You're not pregnant."

She canted her head. "A bit slow on the uptake aren't we, Jaime?"

He stopped in front of her. "Do you think you'll win?"

"Either that, or I'll die."

Her flippant response gave him pause. "Don't you care?"

"Why should I? I've lost everything. You. Our children. Nothing matters. That's what I've learned," she turned to the scene unfolding before her. "The armies are ready. Hers aren't. That's my hope."

He was staring at her.

"Oh, and by the way. That big bitch who you travelled with all those years ago? She's here."

His heart stopped. "What?"

Cersei turned. "Yes. I'm not sure what she wanted, but she's locked away," she examined his reaction. "She'll die, along with everyone else. And what will you do, brother? Hm? Will you mourn her? Just as you'll mourn me? Or will we die together…?" she touched his cheek. "Perhaps not."

He backed away from her. "You're an awful person," he said, but he was transfixed. He couldn't do this… He went to take his hand off, but it wasn't there. Seven gods be damned, he never put it back on. He scanned the room…she wasn't there, Jaime. She was dead. He closed his eyes, listening to the fight raging in the hall.

And he heard something…something like a breeze, but close. He opened his eyes…

Arya was standing behind Cersei, and blood was spreading across her stomach. Cersei looked at him. "What have you done?" she said.

He went over to her, took a dagger from his belt. "I'm choosing to live," he said. "Without you," and he slit her throat.

Cersei fell in a heap.

Arya took her Needle and wiped it on Cersei's gown. "Sandor," she breathed.

They turned to the hall, and at the end of it, someone was running toward them, just beyond the fray.

"Brienne," breathed Jaime.


	6. Chapter 6

_AN: I'm adding a bit from "The Bells" here. It's not that I don't think that Daenerys Targaryen isn't capable of laying waste to King's Landing. Rather, I don't think that that reaction was earned. So, we're getting an abbreviated version of this, and then we'll see a slower descent into madness. Along with more Braime and a dash of Jonsa._

* * *

She couldn't fathom what she was witnessing at the end of the hall. She saw the Mountain in a sword fight with what appeared to be Sandor Clegane.

…and running toward them was Arya Stark.

And Jaime.

She stopped for a moment. He had seen her, and ceased his own movement. They looked at each other.

But Brienne was not to be deterred. She drew Oathkeeper and, though she was unarmored, she ran, sliding on her knees, slicing the Achilles' Heel of the Mountain.

He fell, turning toward her, his sword drawn, and swiped in her direction. She backed away. And Jaime's sword fell into his breast at the vulnerable spot in the armor. Gregor Clegane turned, stood…Arya jumped on his back with a dagger, sticking him in the neck.

Gregor ripped her from him, tossing her to the floor.

"He's not alive!" yelled Sandor. "You can't kill what's already dead."

But Jaime had seen red when Arya fell. When the Mountain had reached for Brienne. He took Widow's Wail in his hand, and rearing from behind the beast, sliced off his head. He panted, looking around. "It's done."

They all looked at one another.

"We need to alert the Northerners," said Arya. "Before anything happens…" she ran to the portico to look out.

Daenerys' larger dragon was in the bay, lighting the ships like kindling. The other was blasting the tops of the battlements.

Jaime looked at Brienne, feeling her gaze…but she quickly turned away. He swallowed.

"Let's go," she said, calling to Arya.

The four ran down the stairs of the empty Keep.

And as they ran, Jaime reached for Brienne. "What are you doing here?"

She hastily took her arm from him, glaring. "Not now."

He paused as the three continued their descent to the street, but then followed.  
Well, what did he expect? He left her crying in the cold. He told her that he couldn't be with her…but he had believed that he was going to die, and it would be easier, in the long run, if she believed that he didn't care about her. He didn't consider the weeks previous, when every look, every moment they were together, had told her something completely different.

He really was the stupidest Lannister.

But there was no time for that now. She was safe, as was he. Somehow, they'd survived until this point.

And they'd need to get to Jon Snow…Targaryen…before the invasion.

And it dawned on him… "Stop!" he yelled to the other three, just as they were leaving the Keep. "I know what needs doing."

"What?" asked Arya.

"The bells. We ring the bells…that indicates surrender."

Arya turned to the bell tower. It wasn't far. "Let's go," she started to run, with Sandor, Jaime, and Brienne just behind.

There were people crammed about…Cersei had opened the gates to allow them all in, mostly as a ploy to appeal to Daenerys' sympathy. It was difficult maneuvering through the throng. Jaime tried to keep track of the others, constantly looking around. Brienne and Sandor were easier…Arya, being smaller, took effort. "Arya!" he called. "Stay close!"

Down another alley he led them…children clutching to their mothers, mothers trying not to weep…what had become of them all? he wondered. Madness. They'd all descended into madness.

And though it was winter, the heat from the people and their worry was enough to warm them all to the point of sultriness. One would not guess it was winter at all.

They were nearly there when it happened.

Screams…

Jaime looked up, but saw nothing. There was a terrible stillness in the air.

Until a crash to deafen was heard, and the crumbling of the buildings sent a cloud of dust rumbling toward them.

"What happened?" Sandor yelled in the din of destruction.

"Run!" yelled Jaime…he hurtled in the direction of the bell tower, praying that it was undamaged in whatever just happened. They ducked into an alcove…"Put your cloaks over your faces,"…he grabbed Brienne's arm and pulled her under his with him. The wind from whatever happened was slowing, and he lifted the covering. "Come on," he led them to the bell tower.

Thankfully, it was standing. They hurried over.

"Look!" yelled Brienne…and they paused…there. There was the source of the noise. The smaller dragon had been shot down out of the sky and landed on King's Landing…they were staring at one of the wings draped over at least ten houses.

Jaime looked at the sky in search of the other…likely the one Daenerys was riding. "Hurry," said Arya.

The four went inside. "Can you do it?" Jaime asked Sandor, holding up his right stump.

He nodded, brushing passed them.

…and the bells rang out. No one breathed. No sound was heard, until the roar of the dragon made them all jump.

Jaime went outside, looking up. There was no way to get atop the bell tower, so there was no better vantage point. The dragon roared again. The bells from all across King's Landing chiming out.

…and then he heard it.

People running…it sounded like they were a few streets over. He went back inside. "Something is wrong…"

And there was a sound of wings above them. A sound of fire.

He peered out…

There was the dragon, laying waste in its path to the Red Keep. He watched as the enormous beast flew to the Keep…it landed on the roof. Then it blasted the roof with the fire in its belly, setting the roof aflame. It reared up, knocking a tower over with its tale, another gust of fire, then flew out into the bay…becoming smaller and smaller.

"Let's find Jon," said Arya.

"Did she light the city on fire?" asked Sandor.

"No. Just a few blocks, I think," said Brienne.

"Just a few blocks?" Arya called behind her as she led them along. "That's hundreds of people."

Jaime didn't know what to say. He wondered briefly if Cersei would have survived that, or if she would have stood there, watching the dragon come at the Keep…

He shook his head, following mutely in the trio's wake. He couldn't believe what he had just witnessed.

It was over fairly quickly; unless she was coming back to do more damage, which, he supposed, was quite possible.

He very much wanted to see his brother, and hoped that he was with Jon.

The Lannister forces were in front of them now, and their swords were laying down. They brushed alongside them all as the armies fell to their knees in surrender.

"Jon!" Arya called. "She's dead. Cersei's dead!"

Everyone's swords fell to their sides. They all looked at the foursome…an unlikely group. Jaime was the last behind them.

"Dead?" Jon asked.

Arya nodded. "We killed her."

"Who?"

"Jaime Lannister and I."

And Jon looked at Jaime. "We assumed you had done treachery."

But Jaime just shook his head. "Where's my brother?" he asked very softly.

"Not sure. Probably just outside the gates."

Brienne walked toward Jon. "Is Podrick Payne with you?"

"Haven't seen him."

She swallowed, looking around. She caught Jaime's eye, but quickly looked away.

"Fall back. Take the prisoners!" yelled Jon.

"Are you going to ignore what she just did?" Arya asked her cousin.

"What do you mean?"

"She lit up hundreds."

"She's the Queen," replied Jon, and turned. "That's her choice."

Arya looked at Sandor, then Jaime. "Come on. Let's find Tyrion."

Jaime looked at Brienne. "Will you come with us?"

She appeared to be worried, but nodded.

She was still carrying Oathkeeper at her side, her armor in the dungeons of the Keep. It was heavy in her hand.

She hoped that he was alive, as she followed Jaime and the others. She prayed that she hadn't sent him to his death.

Brienne was a tangle of emotions, which was unusual for her, and she wasn't certain how to handle it. She was so relieved that Jaime was alive. She was so furious at him for leaving her the way he did. She was pleased that the battle was over fairly quickly, but unsure about the Queen laying waste to several streets in King's Landing. She was exhausted. She was confused about the relationship she was witnessing between Jaime, Sandor Clegane, and Arya Stark. It was very odd.

But mostly, she wanted to close her eyes. She wanted to rest. She wanted to find Pod and just…go back North.

She glanced back at Jaime. She loved him, but she was finding it difficult to move passed what he had done, even though she had thought about it all the way to King's Landing.

And though she believed that he loved her, she could not be certain, for he had never told her so. He was willing to just let her be, risking his life, without her ever knowing his heart. To her, that was not love, no matter what she had told herself at the outset.

They reached the gates to find a group of people there, muddling about.

"Tyrion!" called Jaime. And the two went to one another, Jaime kneeling, and embracing his brother. "What happened?" asked Jaime, pulling away and standing.

"They shot down Rhaegal. And…she went a bit mad, I think."

"How much did she destroy?" asked Arya.

"I'm not sure. It looked like a few streets. And the roof of the Keep."

There was silence. "And there it is. A fucking Targaryen loses her mind, and hundreds of people die," Sandor said. "I hope you're going to fight her claim."

Everyone looked at each other.

"Sansa wants an independent North," Arya said. "That's what we're fighting for, if any of you care and want to join."

"You really think that she'll allow an independent North?" Sandor asked.

"No. That's why we're going to fight." And everyone looked up to see Sansa Stark atop a black horse. "We need to leave soon. I'd rather not get into a debate here, at King's Landing, where it's hot and she's already upset," she looked around. "Where's Jon?"

"Still in there," Arya canted her head toward the gate.

"We wait for the Northern armies, then we ride. No matter the time of day," and Sansa turned and went back to where she and her company had camped.

"When did she arrive?" Jaime asked.

"She left the day after I did," offered Brienne, "I imagine she got here yesterday…perhaps this morning, I cannot be certain."

He nodded, searching for a glance, but none came. So he looked at his brother. "Where do you side on this?"

Tyrion looked back at Jaime. "You're going North, aren't you?"

He shrugged. "I made a promise to Arya."

"Arya?" Tyrion looked at her.

And she walked over to him. "Jaime joined Sandor and I on the road here. We made promises. We're brothers," she smiled, still looking only at Tyrion. "And Jaime said that should he survive, he'd come with us to the North. Fight with me, and Sansa…" she looked at Jaime, then back to Tyrion. "Your Queen is mad, or nearly. I've seen it in her eyes. She's ruthless, and though that's important in a ruler, it does no good to be ruthless to those whom you rule. If you think that she won't turn on you, even as her Hand, you're as stupid as you are short."

Tyrion swallowed. "Dwarf jokes are really not appropriate…"

"It wasn't a joke."

"Arya doesn't make jokes. She only laughs at them," said Jaime.

"Funny ones," said Arya, without looking away.

They were all looking at Tyrion. "If I leave, I'm a traitor. She'll come to the North and set it aflame. Instead of everyone dying and turning to ice, they'll burn to death. Is that what we want?"

"She'll do that no matter what," she interjected. "You know what she is. We could use you to fight her."

"But it'll take a week to ride North. She's on a flying dragon. It'll take her a few days."

"So you've made your choice," said Arya.

"Tyrion," Jaime whispered. "Please. You're all I have left of my family."

Tyrion looked at him. "She's dead?"

He nodded.

"And you…?"

"Arya and I."

Tyrion's eyes welled. He nodded. "Someone get Jon Snow. We leave now," and he went toward the camp Sansa was stationed at.

"I thought we were siblings," Arya went over to Jaime, slapping his arm. "Come on," she yelled at Sandor. "Let's find my…" she swallowed, looking around. "My other brother…"

Jaime looked at the people left. A few Northerners.

And Brienne. "Don't," she said, and started walking away.

But he followed her, and turned in front of her so that he faced her. "We should talk."

"Do you honestly think I want to speak with you _now_? Podrick is missing. We need to hurry North before we're all eaten by a dragon. And you…" she swallowed. "And you. You left me there."

"I know it," he breathed.

"I can't talk about this now."

"Tell me when."

She shook her head. "Maybe when this is all over. Maybe," she brushed passed him, heading for Sansa.

He watched her go.

What had he done?


	7. Chapter 7

Brienne sat at the table inside the tent waiting for Jon to arrive. She had heard that he had been reticent, but Arya had convinced him.

Daenerys had not returned.

And three streets of King's Landing had been turned to ash.

The Red Keep would likely be able to be mended, but the roof was nearly gone completely.

She sat, her hands folded in her lap, feeling oddly exposed without any armor.

Her tunic and underclothes felt thin…the cloak she wore, recently acquired from Sansa, was not her own. And it, too, felt strange.

Brienne was utterly put out. She hardly recognized herself, both inside and out. But Oathkeeper was at her side. That was something.

"You asked for me?" Jon Snow entered the tent in a rush.

Sansa stood.

And Brienne with her. As her pledge, she followed Sansa utterly.

"I did. We are riding North."

"We?"

"Yes. The Northern Armies have fulfilled their commitment. And now we go home to continue our rebuild."

Jon looked at her, then at Brienne. "Can we have a moment?"

"She stays," said Sansa, with some heat.

"Fine," Jon raised his chin. "King's Landing is in disarray. The Queen has not been seen since she left on Drogon. We should wait for her to return before we leave for Winterfell."

"No. My concern is not King's Landing," she moved from behind the table to face Jon. "We gave her what she wanted. She has the Dothraki. The Unsullied. She has people here to help her. Now we go home to the people who need _our_ help."

He wavered under her gaze.

"Do you love her still, even after what you saw?" she asked softly.

He looked at the ground. "I don't know. I don't know anything…" his voice trailed. "Someone said that to me, a long time ago now. It's true. I feel ignorant and useless…and I just want someone to tell me what to do."

"Do you want to stay? Because if you do, she'll either kill you or marry you," she smiled ruefully. "Or both."

And Jon raised his eyes to hers. "No. I don't want either of those things."

Sansa took his hands in hers. "Then come _home_, Jon. Help us to rebuild. The winter won't last as long, and then…then you can go where you want," she paused, letting her hands fall to her sides. "Or stay. Bran will be Lord Stark. You can assume any title you please as both Targaryen and Stark."

Brienne looked at her in shock. What had she just heard?

"What will Dany do?" he swallowed, looking intently at her.

"She'll likely fly up on her dragon and demand that we bend the knee. Or that I will. As Warden of the North, you can insist that I do just that," Sansa backed away. "But I won't. And she'll execute me."

His face fell. "I won't let her."

"No. Perhaps she'll grant the North its rightful independence…but I doubt it…" she turned and went back to the other side of the table. "She's entitled, Jon. Unstable. She doesn't understand so much, yet she believes that she does. She believes that she's right…and that makes her dangerous."

He flexed his hands nervously. "Who's going with you?"

"Everyone."

"Who's everyone?"

Sansa smiled. "Tyrion. Jaime. Sandor Clegane. Everyone who isn't the Dothraki or the Unsullied," she paused. "Or a resident of King's Landing."

Jon nodded. "I'll get Davos. We will leave as soon as the camp is dismantled," he bowed, then left.

Sansa looked at Brienne. "Alert the others to begin preparations to leave for Winterfell. We need to keep a quick pace. I'd rather not meet Daenerys Targaryen on the road."

Brienne bowed and left the tent to give the orders.

* * *

He was looking at the destroyed gates. He could go back in and find the horse, maybe. Retrieve his hand.

But he didn't want it. It represented everything that was buried under the fallen roof of the Keep.

Jaime turned and walked back toward the camp, not far from where he stood. It appeared as if they were readying to leave…

He'd need to think about what to do to regain Brienne's trust. Though he had no idea if that was even possible. Likely not, especially after what she had said to him. It sounded so…final.

"What happened to you, brother?"

Jaime looked to find Tyrion at his side. "What do you mean?"

"What do I …" he shook his head. "…everything. Let's start there."

They began to walk into the camp. "I should help…" Jaime looked around, half scouting for her, half feeling useless.

"That's not an answer."

Jaime looked down at him. He smiled. "It's so good to see you, brother."

"And it seems you have acquired another family consisting of none other than the Hound, Arya Stark…perhaps Ser Brienne…" he looked at Jaime's reaction.

"She hates me," he said softly.

"Well. That doesn't mean much, considering."

"Considering what, exactly?"

"Considering that she also obviously loves you."

Jaime shook his head. "I did a terrible thing. And now I'm paying the price."

"A Lannister always pays his debts," observed Tyrion, as he walked toward the camp.

"You honestly didn't just say that to me, did you?"

He chuckled. "But are you a Stark now? You certainly look more the part. Dark, depressing clothes. Unkept, darker hair. Full beard," he smiled as he looked up at him. "You could give Jon Snow a run."

"But he's not Jon Snow is he?" Jaime said softly, sitting on a large rock by a stray tree in the field.

"You know about it?"

He nodded. "Arya told me."

"What is the relationship between you and Arya Stark?"

"Well, on the road, she and Sandor and I…we became close. I made a joke about us being siblings, and she latched onto it. Claimed that she'd lost her brothers…Robb, Bran a shell of himself, and now Jon. So, there it was. And I lost my sister…some time ago now," he looked to the sky, the light dull in winter's hazy chill. "So we sort of adopted each other. With Sandor murdering his only sibling, it all made sense," he looked at Tyrion. "And I fell in love with them both. They're as good as family to me now."

Tyrion nodded. "So we're all fucking Starks now. Brilliant," he laughed.

"Perhaps they're Lannisters…" he paused. "No. With that beard on your face, certainly a Stark."

"And who wants to be a Lannister now?"

"No one with a brain," Jaime stood.

Tyrion looked over at the encampment, now disassembling. "What will you do about her?" Brienne had emerged, barking orders to the company.

He swallowed, tearing his gaze from her direction. "I have no idea."

* * *

They were on the King's Road not long afterward.

Sitting atop a black horse, Jaime was able to keep an eye on Brienne just beyond, riding along with Sansa.

He had never wooed a woman before. He had been with Cersei his entire life, and had never even looked at another before Brienne…and though he could honestly admit that he had developed feelings…a connection…what have you, with her some time ago, he had not attempted any seduction. It had never occurred to his waking mind that he felt anything beyond friendship for her until he saw her at Winterfell. And his successful attempt at Winterfell was almost surely a fluke. He knew he was horrifyingly bad at it.

But this…this was different. He had quarreled with Cersei before. But had never betrayed her trust. Not until he left her.

What could he possibly do to make amends? There was nothing. Nothing that came to mind. He swallowed…he almost wished at that moment that he had died in his murder of Cersei.

And a breeze picked up, and some snow fell.

* * *

They travelled fast, much faster than he would have guessed considering the amount of people on the road. They went as far as nearly two days of travel in one…and the camp that night was well obscured by trees.

Jaime did not accept the tent that Tyrion offered. Nor did he want to bunk with his brother. He was in the throes of self hatred.

"Here," and a cup presented before him as he sat in front of one of the fires.

He looked up as Arya sat next to him. "What's this?"

"Wine. You look miserable."

He took the proffered cup and drank. "I _am_ miserable."

"Well, that won't do. I can't have a miserable brother and a constantly miserable cousin."

He smiled at her. "Where've you been?"

"Around. Making certain that things keep moving. She'll be back, and she won't be happy to find us all gone."

Jaime nodded. "That's wise."

"Why are you miserable?"

"Because," he sighed, drinking the rest of the wine. "She hates me."

"Oh. Is that all? You're quite dramatic, you know."

He turned to her with an astonished look on his face. "Dramatic? She _hates_ me Arya. And there's nothing I can do. I've never had to work at an apology to someone I was in love with. Not for a betrayal, anyway."

"I feel sorry for you."

He turned from her. "Don't mock me."

"I'm serious. Look at you, poor Lord Lannister…never having to work for anything because he was either too rich, too respected as a swordsman, too beautiful to woo a Lady. Real people need to work for things. Now is your chance, and I promise you. It'll be that much sweeter once you have it because you earned it."

He sighed. "I don't know _how,_" and he looked at her. "Can you help me?"

"No. Well, maybe a bit. But I know someone who is probably better than I am at such things."

"Whom do you mean?"

"My sister has only ever wanted to marry a prince and become a queen. She's studied these things since she was a girl. Besides, it'll help acclimate you to her, since she's rather your sister too. By default," she smiled.

"Sansa, I assure you, does not want to be my sister."

"Neither did I, but here we are."

He nodded, smiling, then turned his gaze to the fire. "She's beautiful. And she was mine, for a moment."

"She still is, Jaime. She's in pain. You need to help mend her," Arya stood. "Get some rest," she touched his shoulder as she left him.

* * *

Arya had told him that Sansa would speak with him, but only if Brienne was not around. She did not want to give Brienne the impression that she was meddling in her personal affairs. So, she arranged her guardian to do some light training with Jon.

And Jaime met her along the shore of an icy pond. He bowed. "Lady Sansa. Thank you for agreeing to meet me…this is…embarrassing, is the best word."

"Well, since you've had only one other love, it's not so absurd. And I'd do anything for Arya."

"As would I."

"Yes. I believe you would. She's very fond of you."

He smiled. "She's my sister."

"And does that mean that we, too, are brother and sister?"

"No," he said rather hastily. He cleared his throat. "That is to say…Arya and Sandor and I …we bonded on the road. Made pacts. It's carried on unexpectedly."

Sansa nodded. "Arya trusts you. Brienne did. And so do I."

"Thank you, My Lady," he nodded.

"You killed your sister," she replied, matter-of-factly.

He dropped his eyes. "I did, yes. With the help of Arya."

"Thank you," she breathed. "I know what that must have cost you, but you saved many from a terrible fate."

He looked at her with a steady gaze. "I am come because Arya told me that you might offer some advice in an area which I sorely lack expertise."

"I know Ser Brienne quite well. She, too, is untrained," Sansa turned to look at the lake. "And I am hardly an expert. I've failed more times than I can count about matters of the heart. Even now…when…" she stopped. She seemed to have lost herself in her reverie.

"I beg your pardon? Now?"

She looked at him and smiled. "It's not important. But here is what you must do, what I would want from someone who I loved and hurt me. Make her spend time with you, talk with her. And every day of this journey, do something for her."

"But how? What do I say? She despises me."

"It's better than indifference," she turned toward him again. "It means that she cares. Just bring her sword to her and offer to practice," she paused. "No one has found Podrick."

"My god."

"Yes. So she needs to be kept busy. She's very upset."

Jaime looked out into the grey expanse. His heart broke for her. "I can do that."

"Take her along for a walk once we are camped. Bring her a cup of wine at the fire," Sansa bent to the ground, plucking a violet bloom. "Bring her this. It's the only flower that ever grows in winter. Winterfell is full of them…occasionally, you can spy a field of purple and white when the sun has been fully out for longer than a few hours."

"What do you call it?" Jaime took it from her, holding it in his hand.

"Snow Flowers. Nothing fancy," she smiled.

He nodded. "Thank you, Lady Sansa. I'll try," he bowed, turning.

"Ser Jaime," she said.

He looked at her expectantly.

"I'm happy that the two women most important to me have you."

He swallowed. "The feeling is mutual," he smiled, and left her.

* * *

Brienne made her way slowly back to the tent next to Sansa's. She was exhausted, and the only thing she could think was that she was emotionally drained from the knowledge that Pod was missing.

She was responsible for him. _Why_ did she let him out? She could have gone back to the Keep and freed him!

She hadn't wanted to leave King's Landing, not without him. But she had no choice. And with the Queen in a precarious mental state, she did not want to add to her stress…she had no doubt that Daenerys would imprison her.

She went inside her tent and took the cloak off. She missed her armor…

But then she thought of Jaime, and she nearly choked on the emotion of his memory.

Because he wasn't hers any longer. He had chosen to abandon her without reason. Without telling her.

He did not trust her. Even after everything they had been through.

Her eyes wandered to her bed…glorious bed…where she could sleep for days now.

And on the pillow, nestled in the softness of it…

Was a tiny purple blossom.

She picked it up and smelled it.

The scent was of spring.


	8. Chapter 8

The ground crunched under her boots as she dismounted her horse arriving at the next camp. They had moved so fast under Arya's direction in the past few days that Brienne believed they had three days left at most. That would be something indeed.

She helped with the erection of the camp. Trying to keep busy was best. It helped her to not think about Pod, and she was able to stay clear of Jaime's gaze, though her mind was definitely conflicted about that.

Part of her wanted to go to him and hold him.

Part wanted to run him through with her sword.

And part wanted to run way from him and never look back.

She had gone to King's Landing to save him from himself. To do the deed she believed he had sought to do…something she think he was successful at, but couldn't be certain, for she hadn't heard one way or another. She only knew that Cersei was dead.

But while there, when she saw him, she felt ill. She felt as though she had betrayed herself. It had never been her intention to lose herself in anyone.

Yet she had. It wasn't like her to stand in the cold begging anyone. Crying like that. She would have been sad, but she also wouldn't have begged…she would have asked him why he was leaving, tried to stop him, and then followed.

If she had to do it over, that would be how she would have behaved. Her desperation was unwarranted, and she couldn't coalesce what she knew about herself and her love for Jaime Lannister. Not that she couldn't love him as she was, but that her reaction to him leaving had been something like watching herself from a different vantage point. Like she had left her body and someone else was inhabiting it.

Honestly, she didn't hate him all that much. She was disappointed in him. She didn't trust him. But her ire was mostly directed at herself. She didn't know herself any longer.

And the tiny blossom on her pillow…what did he _mean _by it? Of course it had been him. Was he trying to tell her that he was sorry?

Because it was a paltry effort, albeit sweet.

No, mostly just meager.

"Ser Brienne."

She swallowed, turning. "Ser Jaime," but she didn't meet his eyes.

"I was thinking that we might have a walk along the lane there. It leads to a ruin…I thought it would serve as an interesting diversion."

"I don't require diversions, thank you."

He swallowed. "Surely the drudgery of the encampment has grown tiresome…"

She smirked. "Not as much as that."

Jaime smiled at her, but there was a hint of distress in his face. "Then perhaps we can have a spar…'

"No."

His eyes fell to the ground. "Brienne. Please," and he looked at her. "Just for a bit. And if you tell me to fuck off, I won't bother you again."

She rolled her eyes. "Very well. Let me get my cloak."

He sighed inwardly and followed her with his eyes. So far, so good. He appreciated the help Sansa had given him…it gave him a launching point. It really was that he needed an idea as to how to begin.

Perhaps some encouragement, too, helped.

Brienne walked toward him, her head somewhat down as she fastened her cloak.

She joined him and they began to walk down the lane. They did not speak for a few moments. "I saw you training yesterday with Jon Snow," Jaime observed.

"I did, yes."

"And how did you find him?"

"He's fairly good. I was impressed. But then, he's had experience."

"A good amount, as I understand."

She didn't answer. "You are close with Arya Stark and Sandor Clegane?"

"I am. Though Sandor has been a ghost recently. I haven't spoken to him in a few days."

"How did that come to pass?"

"Is it truly that odd? I'm always being asked about it," Jaime looked at her out of the corner of his eye.

"It is," but that was all she offered.

He sighed a touch. "We met on the way to King's Landing. Exchanged our stories. Gained an understanding of one another, and found that we had things in common…and we made promises."

"Promises?" she stopped.

He turned. "A few."

"Such as?"

"I …" he furrowed his brow. She seemed upset. "I promised Arya that I'd accompany her North. She promised to kill Cersei if I found I couldn't. Sandor…" he paused. "He…well. Now that I think about it, he only ever said he'd be there with us. Unless he was off killing his brother," he offered a weak smile.

"So verbal promises. Clearly," she looked at him steadily.

He nodded. "I'm not sure I understand what you're…"

"Nothing," she interrupted, and started walking again. "I'm happy that you found some friends on your journey," but there was acid in her tone.

"What is it?"

"I said nothing."

"Brienne…"

She stopped and turned to him. "You had _me_. And you left me. And you went off with Arya Stark and the Hound…you trusted _them_."

"It had nothing to do with trust."

Brienne just turned and continued to walk down the lane. "Let's not argue."

He didn't answer. He was dumbfounded…but then, she was hurt. He had hurt her. And he had no right to judge her feelings. He followed along, catching up. "I heard about Podrick," he said softly. "I am sorry."

"There's nothing to be sorry for yet."

"No…well. He's missing."

Brienne felt her throat constrict. "Please don't."

They reached the ruin…it was a lone tower situated by an expansive lake. "I was here years ago. Tywin brought me here to meet some of the other houses. We had a hunting expedition."

"What's the tower for?"

He looked at her. "To climb," and he went over to it and inside. There were stairs that wound upwards…Jaime climbed them to the top, Brienne following. It wasn't terribly tall, but it offered a pleasant view. "Look…just on the other side of the lake. That was the home of an ancient family whose house is long gone. It's said that the ghost of the youngest daughter roams the place still."

"Why has she not found peace?"

"I don't know," he looked at her. She was staring across at the house.

"Perhaps someone wronged her and she roams in search of her vengeance."

"What sort of wrong would prompt that reaction?"

She looked at him. "I can think of a few."

He swallowed. "It is a lovely view, though. Don't you agree?"

Brienne looked again. "It is."

"Are you happy to be returning to Winterfell?"

"No."

"Grown tired of it, have you?" he smiled.

"No. I have entanglements which are triggered by the place, and I do not look forward to being reminded of them."

"I see." His face fell, his voice, cold.

She sighed. "This was a mistake."

"Too soon?"

Brienne looked at him. "I'm going to tell you the truth, which was more than you gave to me. I don't know how to feel about any of this. And more than anything, I despise myself, because I fear that I lost myself in you."

"Brienne…" he reached for her.

And she didn't pull away.

He took her hand. "Please, I am sorry. But that's only a small part…I want to…try to make things better."

"How? How can you possibly…?"

"Allow me to ingratiate myself to you again. And slowly…at your pace. We can have a pact. Every day we spend an hour together. And you can stop any time you want."

She looked at him. "An hour every day."

He nodded. "There is much I need to say, but I think it needs to be when you're ready to hear it."

She took her hand away. "Very well."

He smiled so broadly that he almost looked like Jaime Lannister of old. "Thank you."

They walked back to the camp together, not speaking much. He inquired after her comfort, Sansa, and some other nondescript things. She answered politely.

And she left him by the general area next to the fires. He watched her go, feeling somewhat pleased with how it went.

"So you're speaking."

Jaime looked at the direction of the voice. "Sandor…I was just talking of you. Where have you been?" he sat on a felled log by the fire.

"Mostly with Arya."

He nodded. "Is that wine?"

Sandor handed him a cup. "Celebrating?"

"Pardon?" Jaime sipped.

"You and Brienne."

"Oh. No…that wasn't what you think."

"What was it then?"

"It was…" he paused. "A beginning."

"Well that's something," he downed his drink and poured out more.

"What's the matter? I've not seen you drink this much."

"Can't a man fucking drink anymore?"

"I've seen plenty of drunks. My brother among them."

Sandor looked at him. "Ain't I your brother?"

Jaime smiled. "Of course."

Sandor nodded. Looked at the fire. "I hate my life," he growled.

"Why? Didn't you accomplish what you wanted…?"

"First of all. No. _You_ accomplished it. Secondly…I have no idea what the fuck I'm supposed to do now."

"Ah," Jaime slid to the ground and poured more wine. "You are upset that you didn't deal the death blow."

"Fuck off."

"You were there. You fought him. He was a massive…undead thing. No one could have killed him alone."

Sandor shook his head. "I cannot get one fucking thing right. And what do I do? Go back to the fucking North? Fight another battle? Maybe more. There's no end to it."

"Perhaps there isn't supposed to be for men like us."

"Look at you. A fucking Lannister com Stark," he nodded at him. "You've got a life ahead of you. You've got people who care."

"As do you," Jaime leaned forward. "Arya cares. So do I."

"My point is, we aren't that much alike Jaime Lannister Stark. We have Arya. We are fucking Knights. That's where it ends."

"That's not where it ends for me," Jaime said with heat. "I care about you. I …" he swallowed. "I meant it when I said that we were brothers. And I'd fight along side you."

Sandor looked at him. He shook his head. "Aye. Brothers."

"Brothers," Jaime nodded. "You were with me at some of my darkest hours. Nothing will change that."

"What will happen in the North?"

"What do you mean?"

"She's coming, isn't she?"

Jaime shrugged. "I imagine so. Though it's doubtful, at least to me, that she's fast on our heels. She'll be at Winterfell in a fortnight."

"And what will happen?"

"We'll try to reason. And then we'll fight."

Sandor drank deeply, then poured more. "I can't believe we're having to deal with another Targaryen cunt."

Jaime chuckled at that. "Well, we are. And, I suppose, she'll be like her father before her…after the wreckage we saw of King's Landing."

Sandor didn't respond. He stared long into the fire. "What did Brienne say?"

Jaime took a long breath. "We are taking things slowly. I don't think she despises me. But she's very hurt and angry. So, every day, we're spending some time together after we camp. Once we reach Winterfell, I suppose we'll see."

"How fucking quaint."

He laughed, looking at him. "It is, isn't it? But it's delicate. And must be treated as such."

"You speak prettily. Better than Arya."

"Well, Tywin was determined that his children read, and read well. And we were presented at court at a young age. Arya never had that experience, and she left her home quite young."

"You think that you could teach me?"

Jaime looked at him. "Teach you?"

"To read."

He nodded. "Of course I can," he said softly.

"Good. That'll give me some purpose in this shit life," he shifted closer to him. "No one can know."

"Does Arya?"

"She might…not sure. I can read some things. But I want to be better. I want to be able to…" he paused. "To read anything. To talk like I know things…to be able to say what I mean."

"To use the word _cunt_ less," he smiled.

"Dunno if that's possible, Jaime."

"True. I may not recognize you without it being uttered every other word."

Sandor laughed. "When we get to Winterfell, then?"

He nodded. "Can Arya know?"

"Why the fuck not."

"Very well. I've never taught anyone anything but swordplay," he sipped. "Perhaps Arya and I can both help. She's likely more patient than I am."

"That's fine. And I'll even leave my sword behind so I don't get angry and chop off your cock."

Jaime stared at him wide-eyed. "Thank you for that."

And Sandor laughed…a deep thing.

They spoke long into the night.


	9. Chapter 9

He had fitful dreams.

And when he woke, the sky was barely blue. He was freezing…the fire long out, Jaime stretched his weary body and sat up.

He hadn't slept in a bed since the inn. And he had been traveling for weeks now.

He was getting too bloody old for this shit.

He rubbed his face and stood. His head hurt somewhat from the wine…they had been up quite late. Everyone, it seemed, save a few squires, was still sleeping.

He trudged to the wood to piss and then he'd get things to clean his face and teeth.

He'd dreamed of Cersei. She had been a younger version of herself…but he'd been the same age. She pleaded with him not to kill her. What about Joffrey? Tommen? What about their daughter, Myrcella? Don't speak of them to me, he had spat. And with a quick stroke, killed her.

He had been so cold. Everything that he worried about…about his own anger and disregard for others was evident in that dream. But he had linked those tendencies directly to Cersei. And with her death, he envisioned himself becoming who he wanted to be.

But what if he was wrong? What if that was simply him?

He felt ill leaving the wood, and spilled the wine from his stomach into the grass, stiff and grey with cold.

What if he was tainted by his blood, and not merely the existence of his more hateful self?

How could he love Brienne, knowing this?

Jaime walked to the camp and retrieved some things from his horse. He longed to get out of these clothes…and he hoped that there were still some of this things at Winterfell. That she hadn't burned them in anger, or else given them away.

He walked to the lake down the lane from yesterday with Brienne. There was a closer option, but he needed to clear his head.

And the path bent slightly. And he kept his head down. But when he lifted his face, he saw her.

She was magnificent in the pale light of pre-dawn. Her back was toward him, and she hadn't moved.

In fact, she was so still that he thought that perhaps he was imagining her.

Slowly, he approached her. And she heard him, turning quickly. Her eyes went wide for a breath of time, but she didn't move.

He walked to a spot beside her and squatted for some water to wash. It was nearly frozen. But he washed his face, hands, teeth. And he stood to find her watching him.

"Good morning," he said softly.

She swallowed. "I couldn't sleep."

"It's quite cold."

"No…it was my mind," she turned from him.

"Ah. Yes. That'll happen."

"Have you been sleeping well?"

"I've been on the road almost constantly for some time now. It'll be a blessing to sleep in a bed," he stopped short, realizing the implication. "Any bed," he added.

She nodded, then turned to him. "Why did you leave that flower?" her eyes were wet, but she showed no emotion otherwise.

Jaime swallowed…her gaze heavy on him. "I …" he shrugged. "It was a lovely thing, struggling to grow. It reminded me of us…you're a lovely thing. I'm struggling to grow," he smiled meekly.

She smiled. "I'm not a lovely thing, Jaime."

"You are to me."

"Stop it," she shook her head, gaze falling.

"Why?" he breathed.

And she looked at him, and some tears spilled. "Because I believe I'm dying inside."

"Good god," he said, pain in his words. "Brienne…tell me what to do…" he reached for her.

And she let out a very soft sob. And she stepped into his arms, holding him tight, and letting the tears fall. He returned her fierce hold, closing his eyes and relishing giving her comfort. "It's all right…" he said, though he didn't know if it was, for he had no idea if he could make it so.

"It's not," she said, pulling away.

He missed her warmth already. "Why are you dying inside?" he stammered.

"Because…I think that I've changed so that it must be a kind of death. I don't recognize myself."

He nodded. "But…couldn't it be a good thing? Changing? I'm on the same path, and it's one of the most important things I've ever done."

"I don't know," she said, looking at her feet.

"We can journey together," he took her hand.

She flinched somewhat, but didn't take it back. "I don't know," she said again. "It wasn't until I saw you that I began to feel this way…reflect on our time together…" she took her hand now. "And the more I thought, the angrier I felt at myself. Who was this person? She wasn't the warrior I knew. She was a shadow of herself."

He began to panic. What was she telling him? He had changed her and she hated herself? He swallowed. "Brienne…I'm not certain what you're telling me. But if you're thinking that you need to be away from me, I won't stop you. I'll go to Winterfell and stay until my promise is fulfilled to Arya. And then I'll leave," with every word uttered it was like a knife to his heart. "No matter how it hurts me, I'll leave."

She stared at him. "If you left, I'd be half a person," she said simply.

"I …" he furrowed his brow.

"I've spent most of my time since I met you away from you. And always, I missed you. You are part of me, Jaime. And you always have been. If you leave me again, I'm not sure what would happen to me."

He nodded. "Then I'll stay," his voice was hoarse with emotion.

"I'll see you when we reach the next camp," and she turned abruptly and walked down the path.

She didn't turn back…she walked with purpose to her tent. Her long strides confident and her outward self contained. She always recovered quickly from such things as seeing Jaime Lannister by a lake in early morning hours.

She reached her tent and packed her things, softly commanding her squire, thinking of Pod the entire time. She was relieved when she finished. Brienne walked over to Sansa's tent, hoping that she wasn't disturbing her sleep.

She went in to find Jon Snow there, speaking with Sansa. "Beg your pardon, My Lady. I wanted to tell you that the camp is already dismantling."

"Good," she said. "Come in, Brienne."

Jon Snow watched as she entered.

"We were just discussing the return to Winterfell and the possible meeting with the Queen."

Brienne nodded.

"What are your thoughts?"

"My thoughts?" she looked between Jon and Sansa.

"Yes," Sansa sat.

"About meeting the Queen?"

She nodded.

"I don't think that I have an opinion…"

"Of course you do," said Jon. "Everyone has one. Especially about Daenerys Targaryen."

She looked at Jon…Jon, whom she had heard Sansa say was a Targaryen. Jon, whom she believed was in a relationship with the Queen. "I think that she has a temper."

Sansa chuckled. "That's certainly true."

"Well, that's not always a desirable trait in a ruler. Keeping a cool head is a preferable response."

Sansa regarded her with satisfaction. Then turned to Jon. "I think that Brienne has made an excellent observation."

He turned away. "Yes, yes."

"Jon…using the Queen as a means to stay your claim to the Throne, especially when you know what she is, is irresponsible."

He looked at her, anger in his face. It was the first time Brienne had seen him show anger toward Sansa. "I wanted you to keep quiet about that."

"I trust her with everything. Including this," she looked at Brienne. "Jon is Aegon Targaryen, and he is the rightful heir to the Iron Throne."

Brienne looked at him…she swallowed. "You don't want it?"

"No," he said, his voice a rasp. "I never have."

"Then that makes you all the more worthy to have it."

"What?" his eyes narrowed with the question.

"Good leaders are almost always reluctant ones."

He sighed. "You're not helping," he said to Brienne.

"Neither are you by denying your birthright, especially when we have a Queen who is willing to torch her subjects on a whim."

Sansa smiled broadly. "Now you know why I asked her here," she said to Jon.

"You're something, Sansa…but what about what I want?"

But Brienne answered. "We don't get to choose what we want unless we are very, very fortunate. It's our duty and our honor that compels us to act," she said. "And, occasionally, love," she added softly.

Sansa looked at her. "Jon. Leave us."

He didn't need telling twice.

"What's happened?"

"I've spoken with Ser Jaime."

"And?"

"He's trying. But I'm very confused, and I don't like it."

"Feeling confused, or that he's trying?"

She looked at Sansa. "Confused."

She nodded. "Don't do anything you don't want to do. But don't close yourself off, either," she stood and walked toward her. "You're a strong person, Brienne. But that doesn't mean you always have to be strong."

Brienne watched as Sansa left the tent. She turned and followed to finish readying the camp for departure.

* * *

They had been riding a few hours when Jaime saw Arya. She was speaking with some soldiers…

He rode up to her. "What's the command?" he smiled.

She looked at him. "To keep a quick pace."

"You heard her," he said to them all. And they moved.

"Don't need your help, you know," she turned her horse to follow the men.

"No? Were they listening?"

"I was busy insulting them."

He laughed. "Good on you."

She looked at him, smiling slightly. "How are things? Did Sansa help?"

"She did. Things are…progressing slowly."

"Well, that's something, I suppose."

"It is. Thank you for speaking with your sister on my behalf."

Arya nodded. "It was fine. She was happy to do it."

"I was speaking with Sandor last night…how does he seem to you?"

Her face fell somewhat. "Not well. But you've been distracted and sad, so I didn't want to say anything."

"You're keeping your brothers from falling apart."

She shrugged.

"It's good to have you, Arya Stark."

"But you seem better…"

"A bit, yes," he looked at the sky. For being so much further North, it didn't seem so grey. "He wants us to teach him to read," and he looked at her.

She looked at him bemusedly. "Truly? I always suspected it…he admitted it to you?"

"He did."

"Well. Of course," she looked around at the company. "Of course we will."

"Yes. I thought that would be your response."

She didn't say anything. "Can we move over there more? I need to speak with you about something, and it's not for everyone's ears."

He nodded, concern etched in his features.

They moved to the edge of the caravan. "Jon is being stubborn."

"What about?"

"About the Queen."

Jaime looked for Jon in the throng. He couldn't find him…"What is it that you desire of him?"

"I want him to insist that she grants the North independence," she paused. "But I also want him to either claim his birthright or else appoint someone else to sit on the Throne."

"Someone like Sansa?"

She looked at him. "Yes."

He shook his head. "I know that you love Jon, and I don't know him well, but he seems like he relies heavily on his gut…on his heart. If he doesn't want it, and Daenerys does, it's an easy solution to his problem."

"But she's not a good choice."

"Ah…but that's the thing about monarchs, Arya. They aren't chosen."

She sighed, looking away. "Perhaps they should be, then."

"I feel as though Tyrion should be involved in this somehow."

"What do you mean?"

"I'm not sure. But Tyrion is wily with things of state. And he's persuasive. Perhaps I can speak with him before we reach Winterfell."

Arya nodded. "We need to do something about that stump of yours," she smiled at him.

He looked at it. "I'm growing accustomed to not carrying that enormous golden thing at the end of my arm."

"It was an eyesore."

"Was it? And you never said anything."

"Well, you seemed to like it," she shrugged.

He smiled. "It's in King's Landing. And there it shall stay."

"Perhaps we can have a new one made when we get back. Something less…"

"Gauche?"

"Appropriate."

He smiled at her. "Perhaps instead we can have Widow's Wail fused to the end of my arm. It would save time."

"And how do you think Brienne would like that?" she smirked.

"Arya," he said, his eyes narrowing. "You are my sister. Do not speak of such things in front of me."

She rolled her eyes. "Spoken like a true older brother."


	10. Chapter 10

The encampment that night was in a wide meadow…fully exposed. Jaime didn't like it. They weren't close enough yet to Winterfell to make a run for it should the Queen show. And though he really did not believe that she would, they were leaving much to chance.

"Why here?" he asked Arya as the set up began. It was growing tiresome, and less and less tents were being erected. Only a handful of the leaders were getting them now.

"It's as good as any. And there's water nearby."

"But we're leaving ourselves open. There's a forest some way along…"

"We need to get home. We've only got two more days journey if we hurry. We can leave at first light."

He sighed. "Where are you sleeping?"

"Just there. By the main fire."

He nodded. "I'll set my bed there then. Where's Sandor?"

"Not sure…" she looked. "Over there. By Sansa."

"Tell him to camp there too. And get as close to Sansa's tent as possible," he said turning to leave.

"You mean Brienne's?" she called.

"That too," he said over his shoulder. He left to look for Tyrion, and if he couldn't find him, he'd wait for Brienne. They'd spar. Perhaps have some dinner together before sleep. He took his things and set them by the larger fire ring close to Sansa's tent.

He looked around…they were only just off the King's Road. If they thought that there was any way of not being noticed, they were mistaken. One more night of this, and they'd be back. He honestly could not wait…the spires of Winterfell would seem like a homecoming.

"Tyrion!" he called, spying his brother just ahead…speaking to Jon Snow.

He turned, said something to Jon, and walked toward him. "Jaime…where in the seven kingdoms have you been?" he smiled.

"Here. Well, I've been riding alone mostly. You?"

"With Sansa. She doesn't ride solitary. So I've been in the carriage with her."

He nodded. "Shall we take a walk to the pond just beyond?"

Tyrion regarded him a moment, then nodded. "Have you spoken with her?"

Jaime looked at him. "I have."

"And?"

"We're taking things slowly."

"I see."

"What?"

"Nothing. She's not forgiven you yet," he replied.

"Well, no. I don't suppose she has."

"She will. And what will you do when she does?"

They reached the water, frozen almost completely. "I'll …" what will he do? "We'll just…pick up where we left off, I imagine."

"You'll stay at Winterfell then?"

"I've grown fond of the Starks. I wouldn't mind being there at all."

"I thought you hated the North," Tyrion chuckled.

"I do. But it matters if people you care about love it. And perhaps, one day, we can leave and go South. Maybe the Summer Isles. Or even Tarth."

He smiled.

"Tyrion…there's something particular I wanted to speak with you about."

He regarded his brother. "I'm not changing my name to Stark."

He laughed. "No…it's about…" he looked around. The place was empty save them. "Jon. And his claim."

"You should not speak about such things, Jaime."

"That's why I'm talking to you and not someone else. What are your thoughts about the Queen?"

Tyrion sighed. "Well, considering I've abandoned her, I'd say that I don't think much."

"What about Jon? Is he an able ruler?"

"He's a reluctant one. He is somewhat indecisive. He's brave, but that doesn't mean that he's smart."

Jaime nodded. "So, not ideal."

Tyrion shrugged. "Who is ideal?"

He turned fully turned to him. "Arya believes Sansa is."

"Oh my," he shook his head, kicking at the ground.

"And I'd venture that Brienne would agree."

"I see. And what is her claim?"

"Her ability."

"Do _you_ think she's an able ruler?"

"I don't know. But she likely wouldn't burn a few streets down in a city just because she could."

Tyrion looked at him. "I can't just _decide_ who sits on the Throne, Jaime."

"No. But you're respected. Just think about it, hm?"

"I don't know what the Starks have said to you, but they cannot choose who rules Westeros."

"We are at a turning point. The Queen is unstable. Just as when I killed Aerys…the country hangs in the balance. And perhaps this time we can make a real change. Wouldn't that be a fantastic legacy?"

Tyrion stared at him. "You sound like her. When I first met her."

"You mean…?"

"Daenerys," he said softly.

Jaime wasn't sure what he thought about that. "Well. Just think about it. If Jon doesn't want it, if we're going to fight and possibly remove her, we need to have an alternative. It might not be Sansa Stark, but there needs to be a leader. Someone needs to plant their ass on that Throne," he smiled. He looked around. "You're staying close to Sansa's tent?"

"Two down."

"Good. I'm along the main fire," he nodded. "See you at dinner," and he left to find Brienne.

* * *

She was watching some of the younger soldiers spar…they looked well enough. She hadn't given them the attention that they needed, but still. They looked all right.

Brienne wasn't accustomed to being depressed…she was much too rational for that nonsense. But she had no control over it, and unbidden, thoughts plagued her. Mostly they were about Jaime, but also Podrick, and every shitty thing that ever happened to her.

She was trapped in her past.

It was so bizarre, these feelings of worthlessness. She had believed that she had moved beyond those toxic thoughts. She had believed that she had changed…Renly had given her the tools to change. He had saved her from herself and her own worst tendencies.

She was strong.

But somehow, now, she didn't feel particularly strong. She felt small, meek. She was crumbling under the weight of her own self hatred, and she couldn't see a way out.

She supposed it was the way in which Jaime left her. She was able to formulate a plan, able to act when she needed…but now that he was around her, and she was practically idle, she couldn't stave off the horrors of her mind.

She wasn't sure if she wanted him to leave her alone…she was inclined to think, no. She wanted to see him, if only to know he was all right.

But her heart told her that she needed to see him for more than just reassurance that he wasn't dead.

She wanted to see him because she was in love with him.

"Brienne?"

She jumped a bit and turned. "Jaime."

"Are you all right?"

"Fine," and she faced him.

He nodded. "So. I was thinking that we might spar a bit."

"Spar?"

"Get Oathkeeper. We can have a go."

"I don't think so."

He looked at her crookedly. "Why ever not?"

"I'm not feeling up to it," and she turned away.

"Are you ill?"

"No," she sighed a bit.

He moved a bit closer. "You promised…one hour. It's up to you how we spend that hour, but I'm holding you to it."

"Do not speak to me of promises, Jaime Lannister," and she turned again, ready for a fight.

He swallowed. "I made you none. I may have behaved in a truly despicable way, but I never broke a promise."

"Not with words," she spat, but she immediately softened, and swallowed her emotion. "I know that I promised and that you mean well. Let's start again."

He nodded, his heart in his throat. "Would you care to spar?"

"No thank you. A walk would suit me fine. Allow me to retrieve my cloak…" and she nodded.

"Of course," he stepped aside for her to pass.

She walked with purpose to her tent which she was now sharing with Sansa. She knew that she had overreacted, but she couldn't help it. She was already feeling like shit. And he just made her feel …what?

Stupid.

She took her cloak and walked back to where Jaime was waiting for her. He hadn't moved. She walked up to him. "Ready?"

He nodded, his mouth drawn downward a bit.

She had hurt him.

Well, good, she thought. Considering how much he had hurt her, it was good to get his own back. She would not retract any of it, even though she did apologize, but that was because she had overreacted, not because she had told the truth. "Jaime," she said, as they walked down into a bowl of earth just beyond a forest. "It was unfair of me to start that conversation so abruptly. It's something that we need to speak about, but when we're at a different place. Both physically and mentally."

"It's all right," he said, and they entered the forest. "I deserve it."

She didn't answer him.

The forest was quite dark. They moved through the soft earth…silent and unspeaking. "How is Sansa?" he asked.

"She's…." Brienne looked at him through the dim of the trees. "You inquire after her a lot."

"Do I? Well, she's important to you."

She nodded. "She's…I've seen her better."

"Why?"

"She's concerned about the Queen and her influence on the North."

Jaime picked up a stick and slashed it through the air. "Yes. I've heard about these concerns."

"Who from?" Brienne's interest was piqued.

"Arya. Tyrion."

"And what do they say?"

Jaime leaned against a pine tree, its needles soft beneath his boots. "That Sansa is annoyed at Jon. That she's wary of the Queen."

"They're not wrong," Brienne then leaned against the tree across from him, about six feet away. "Sansa is an able ruler. She understands much."

"I've heard that, too. I don't know her well."

"She is as good as I've seen."

"That's good enough for me," he smiled.

Brienne rolled her eyes. "You're trying too hard."

"Am I? I was under the impression that I wasn't trying hard enough."

"What gave you that impression?"

He scoffed a bit. "Well, nearly every look you offer, your abbreviated responses to my questions, how you practically recoil from me…"

"I don't recoil."

"Flinch, then?"

"There's a big difference between recoil and flinch," she said with some heat.

"Besides, I said 'practically'. There's a distinction."

"Are we going to argue semantics?" she almost smiled.

"Only if it makes you laugh."

She smiled, she couldn't help herself.

And he was more than pleased. He tore his eyes from her and started walking again. "Tell me about Tarth,"

"I've told you," she started to follow.

"Tell me more, then."

She sighed. "What do you want to know?"

"Tell me…tell me the color of the sky in winter."

She stooped and picked up a stone…it was smooth and white. There were tiny specs of silver in the swirls of white. She held it tightly in her hand. "In the winter," she began. "The sky is mostly violet. Occasionally more pink, but only when the sun begins to shine on the island a bit more than the dead of the season. There are tiny craggy flowers that bloom along the moss. In the winter, they are white. In the summer, they are yellow. And when the sky, with all its purple light shines on them, they glow…mimicking the sky."

"Lovely," he breathed.

She looked at him. "I miss it sometimes."

They had stopped walking. "I imagine so…" he was looking at her in the diffused light of the thick forest. "Makes Winterfell seem so…dull."

"I love Winterfell."

"Do you?"

She nodded. "I also dread returning."

He dropped his gaze. "I know it."

She swallowed. "Here," she handed him the stone.

"What's that for?"

"You," and she turned and began to walk out of the forest.

She heard him following, and somehow that pleased her. They walked up the hill to the camp. "Brienne…"

She turned.

"I …." she watched him swallow as he walked up to her. He took her hand in his and raised it to his lips, then kissed it very softly. "It would be my honor to see you for dinner," he dropped her hand.

She blushed a bit. "Dinner?"

"I understand that they are serving a most delectable gruel this evening," he smiled. "Much like they do every evening," he added.

She smiled. "All right."

"Shall I meet you by the fire in a bit?"

Brienne nodded, then turned and walked back to the tent.

He stowed the stone in his pocket.

* * *

He was sitting with Brienne, Sandor, and Arya around the fire.

"Have some more wine," Sandor poured it into Brienne's cup.

"Oh…I don't think…" she protested.

"Sandor. Stop trying to get her drunk," said Arya.

"What do you take me for?" he said. "We have another fucking day of travel, and everyone should feel as miserable as possible," he downed his own.

"I really don't think that nursing an upset stomach atop a horse is something that any of us wants to face in the morning, brother," Jaime said, but he poured more for himself.

"Then you'd better stop drinking. The last thing I want to do is drag your ass back on your horse," Arya told him, winking at Sandor.

"Do you think you could?" he asked her.

"Want to find out?"

"Ah…no. No I don't think I do," he laughed.

"Scared?"

"Not at all," but he drank deeply.

"I'm sick of the fucking road. Been traveling with these fucks forever," Sandor sank into the log he was leaning against.

"That hurts, Sandor. You should mind your observations and limit them to how much you adore Arya and I."

"Don't adore either of you."

"He doesn't mean that," Arya said, throwing a twig into the fire.

Brienne laughed a touch. "He seemed convincing."

"Ah, but that's his gift, Brienne. He tells tales and peppers them with rude remarks for shock value and not because they're true," Jaime smiled at her.

"I'm gonna take a piss. Don't any of you finish that fucking wine, or I'll accidentally fall on your head with my sword."

Sandor walked away.

"Arya! Did you just empty that entire pitcher into your cup?" yelled Jaime, laughing.

"Not fucking funny!" Sandor called from beyond.

They were all laughing. Jaime watched as Brienne wiped her cheek from laughter.

"Who knighted you?" Arya asked Brienne when the laughter ebbed.

He watched as she swallowed.

"Jaime did."

Arya nodded…he hadn't told her that. "And do you think that I'm Knight-worthy, Jaime?"

"Do you want to be a Knight?"

"Not really. But it means something here…it commands respect."

"People respect you, Arya. But if it means something to you, either Sandor or myself could do it."

Arya sat forward. "You saw those soldiers. They listened to you immediately. I needed to stand there and yell at them. Maybe if they had to call me _Ser,_ I wouldn't need to yell."

Jaime sighed. "I'll make anyone obey your command. You know that."

"But wouldn't it be better if they just …did?"

He nodded, and Sandor returned. "Sandor," Jaime started as the Hound sat. "Arya wants to be a Knight."

"What the fuck for?"

"Respect," said Arya.

"Fuck that."

"Brienne," began Arya. "Have you had more respect since you were knighted?"

"Somewhat," but she didn't elaborate.

"Somewhat," Arya repeated. She looked around. "Whatever."

"Why are you all of a sudden fucking concerned about respect? Who fucking cares? You're one of the bravest people in this fucking camp. Tell them to fuck off or you'll…" Sandor looked at Arya. "Whaddya call it? Stick 'em with the pointy end."

She smiled at him, shrugging. "Never mind."

"Arya," began Jaime. "Do you want to be a Knight?"

"I don't know. It was just an idea."

"When we get back to Winterfell, if you still want to, one of us will knight you," Jaime said, looking at Sandor. "Isn't that right?"

He shrugged. "I'll fucking do it," he looked at her. "Sister mine."

She smiled, nodded.

"Well…" Brienne stood. "Early day tomorrow…"

Jaime stood after her. "I'll walk you."

"It's right fucking there," Sandor pointed to the tent not twenty feet away.

"Shut up," said Arya….and she looked at Jaime, mouthing _Kiss her_.

Jaime furrowed his brow, shaking his head.

Arya rolled her eyes.

"The fuck are you two doing?" Sandor could be heard saying as Jaime followed Brienne.

They walked to the tent. "You're all quite close," she said.

"We are, yes."

"It's a lovely family," Brienne stopped in front of the tent's opening.

"Thank you," he stood in front of her. "Tomorrow, then?"

"Tomorrow," she nodded.

Jaime bowed his head, and turned.

"Jaime!" her voice cracked a touch. "Thank you."

He turned again. "What for?"

"For not dying," and she went into the tent.

He touched the small stone in his pocket and walked back to the fire.


	11. Chapter 11

_AN: I changed the title because this became much, much more about Jaime than Brienne. Also because it's from Shakespeare, which makes me endlessly happy._

* * *

He was sorry that he'd drank so much…he felt it in every movement of his horse the next morning.

His head hurt. His legs…it was an almost constant misery.

"Good morning!" Arya yelled from beside him.

He pinched the bridge of his nose. "Arya…can you, for the love of all that's holy, lower your voice?"

She laughed. "Here. Jon took this this morning from the Maester," she handed him a vial.

"What is it?" Jaime looked at it with some apprehension.

"I'm not sure, but Jon was fine not long afterwards."

He downed it. "Was everyone up drinking to excess?" he asked.

"Seems like. Jon was drowning his sorrow."

"What's he sorrowful for?" he looked at her.

"Jon's always sorrowful…first it was because he was a bastard. Then it was…" she paused. "I didn't see him for some time, but when I returned, he didn't seem like he had changed all that much. Now he's sad because of…well," she looked at Jaime. "About what I told you."

"So…he's determined to be miserable, is that it?"

"I'm not sure. He always seemed to carry this secret sorrow. I thought it was because he was a bastard, and maybe that was part of it, but now I think there's more to it than that."

Jaime nodded. "Any ideas?"

Arya looked at her cousin, riding just along the periphery, not far from Sansa's carriage. "Yes."

He waited. "Is it a secret?"

And she turned to him. "Sort of."

"Ah. Well, then you'd best tell me by the fire later," he smiled.

She returned it. "So you didn't kiss her," Arya shook her head.

Jaime looked away. "Not your concern," he said in a sing-song voice.

"Oh but it is. Especially if we're divulging secrets."

He sighed. "You're terribly annoying, you know."

"Part of my charm."

"Debatable," he returned. "No. I did not."

"Why? Too worried that she'd slap you?"

"It's a delicate matter, Arya. I need to pace things just right."

"Are you or are you not in love with her?"

He looked at her. "Of course I am…but…"

"Stop making excuses. Just kiss her. And then she'll either slap you or kiss you back. And if she slaps you, she'll probably be kissing you back much sooner than not, because you've planted the seed of forgiveness."

His eyes went wide, then he shook his head. "When we get back to Winterfell tomorrow. That's when I was planning on acting."

"Suit yourself," she shrugged.

"Thank you for your permission to behave as I see fit," he smiled, a soft chuckle in his voice. "Are you planning on seeing Gendry?"

"No," she snapped, whipping her head to face him. "Why?"

"No reason," he paused. "And what about the knighthood? Still interested?"

Arya shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe," her head fell somewhat. "Why did you ask about Gendry?"

"Well, you haven't given any indication as to whether you plan on staying at Winterfell once the politicals are through deciding the fate of our country," he looked at her. "And I get the feeling that you won't stay, which would be a shame, because it's likely I'll be staying for some time, and it would be better if you were there than if you were far away," he looked at the sky. "I thought that if you were to become involved with Gendry, romantic or otherwise, you might be more inclined to stay."

"You want me to stay at Winterfell?"

"Of course I do. Sandor too. Though I'm sure he'll put up a fight…but if you're staying, at least for a while, he might be inclined to," Jaime looked at Sandor Clegane, not far away from them. "This is assuming that Brienne forgives me, loves me, and wants me to stay with her."

"I'll stay. For at least a bit," she said with a nod.

"You were planning on leaving, then?"

"I was. But I'll stay."

"Thank you, Arya," he smiled.

* * *

They were quite close to Winterfell now…they'd be back before supper the next day. There was a buzz in the air as the encampment was set up for the last time. Everyone was anxious to get home, since ordinarily, there would be at least two night's stay every stop. But this was a hurried caravan, and there was no time for stopping.

Brienne said that she'd sleep outside that night…no need to set up her bed in Sansa's tent. Sansa had looked at her crookedly when she'd offered that. "You want to sleep on the ground?"

"It's less work. I'm anxious to get back."

She nodded. "Very well," and she sat on her own bunk.

"Sansa," Jon entered.

She stood. "Jon," she nodded at him.

"There's been a report that Daenerys will be at Winterfell in three days time with armies."

"Three days," she repeated. "Well. Then we have two to prepare."

"That's all? That's all you have to say?"

"What would you have me say? We knew that she'd be coming."

"But it's nearly here…she'll be here. And we don't have a plan," Jon sounded desperate.

"We _do_ have a plan. Jon. We demand Northern independence. And if she won't grant it, we fight."

"Have you spoken with Daenerys Targaryen?" he sounded a bit more than exasperated.

"Yes."

"She won't yield. She believes she's right."

Sansa walked over to him. "We have had this conversation, Jon. I'm not changing my mind," she paused. "Have you made up yours?'"

He swallowed. "I'll do what Tyrion says."

Brienne looked from one to the other. It seemed as though they hadn't realized she was there.

Sansa nodded. "Whatever he says?"

He hung his head. "Within reason."

"Good. We wouldn't want you to sully your honor, would we?"

Jon looked at her. "My honor," he laughed. "Is long gone," and he left her there with a final glance.

Sansa looked at Brienne. "He's confused."

"So it would seem."

"He's often confused," and she went to the opening of the tent and looked out, watching as her cousin left.

"What does he want?"

She looked back at her. "I'm not sure he knows."

"Is that why he's so upset all the time?"

Sansa laughed. "He's not _always _upset. But, yes. I grant you. He's upset much of the time."

"I don't believe that I've seen him smile once," Brienne said with a look. "Now, I know that I take things very seriously, too…but it seems to be that if he laughed more, he'd be happier."

"You mean not take everything so fucking seriously? Yes. I agree."

Brienne was a bit shocked at Sansa's language. She smiled.

Sansa regarded her a moment. "Is Ser Jaime funny?"

Brienne cleared her throat. "Sometimes."

"That's an important trait…especially in this world. Being able to make someone laugh…it's a gift."

"He's very close with your sister. And, astonishingly, the Hound."

"Yes I know. Arya told me," she sat down at the table.

"Have you watched them interact?"

"I have not."

Brienne smiled. "It's quite something. They…they all seem to love each other very much."

"I hope that he stays for a while at Winterfell," Sansa said with a knowing look. "I'd very much like to know him better. He's captured the hearts of so many people I care about."

Brienne nodded. "I'll go help with the camp," and she left, Sansa smiling at her in her wake.

* * *

He was watching her from afar. She was lifting and carrying things to set up for the night. She'd stop occasionally to speak to someone, to give an order, or offer a smile.

He hoped that she couldn't see him watching her. He doubted it. She was engrossed in her work.

"You're being creepy."

"Hello, Sandor," Jaime smiled, watching him sit at the base of the tree Jaime was leaning against. "Have you set up for the night?"

"I have. Just there," he nodded toward a smaller fire. "Too fucking hot last night."

"You ever been in love, Sandor?" he sat next to him.

"Love? Once. A long, long time ago…but I have this face. And she wanted no part of it."

Jaime was watching him. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be. I'm not," he stretched his legs out in front of him.

Jaime took the stone Brienne had given him out of his pocket and turned it in his hand. "I can imagine how loving someone would be a burden," he looked up. "Cersei was, now that I think of it."

"Fucking your sister can be nothing but a burden, Jaime. You're better off with her," he nodded in Brienne's direction. "But she's not herself. Seems sad or something."

"She is," he said softly. "And it's my fault."

"Better fucking do something about that," Sandor looked at him.

"I'm attempting to."

He nodded. "I heard people talking just there. The Queen leaves tomorrow for Winterfell. Her armies will be close behind."

Jaime shrugged. "As long as she doesn't execute Tyrion, she can do what she wants."

"What will you do if and when she threatens him?" Sandor picked up a stick, hitting it on the ground.

"If she threatens Tyrion, or anyone else I care for, then I'll kill her fucking dragon."

Sandor laughed, it was a loud bark of a laugh. "That beast is as big as Winterfell. How the fuck are you going to kill it?"

"They're vulnerable. We can construct something in a few days with the smiths."

He nodded. "You know, I believe you."

"You should," he stood. "I'd kill it if she threatened you, brother," and he walked away.

Jaime walked through the erected camp, making a line to Brienne. He hoped that no one would step in front of him and disallow his speaking with her.

He walked up next to her, a smallish smile on his face.

She turned to face him as though she had felt his presence. "Jaime," she nodded.

"Brienne," he bowed. "Have you finished with the set up?"

"I believe so," she looked around.

"Care to spar?"

She smiled. "Oh all right," and she turned to get Oathkeeper.

He was more than pleased. Although he couldn't account for it, there was something…erotic…about fencing with her. It hadn't happened but a few times, yet it always resulted in his libido raging. Only with her…no one else.

She walked out without armor.

But then, he didn't have any on, either.

"Excellent," he said. "Come. There's an open field just on the other side of those trees," he led her through a thicket.

They walked out…it was fairly open. And he assumed the stance. "Just practice, My Lady," he called.

"I believe you mean _Ser_," she replied, taking her own stance against him.

He smirked. "Yes, Ser," and he charged at her, landing Widow's Wail onto Oathkeeper with a heavy blow.

And they went on for at least half an hour…there was some laughter, but it felt good to practice…for the both of them.

"I yield!" Jaime called as he turned away from her.

Brienne couldn't sheath the sword, so she let it fall to her side. She was watching him as he looked at the sky. "You all right?"

He turned, a wild look on his face. He swallowed, then nodded. "Fine," then he walked toward her. "We return to Winterfell tomorrow."

"Yes. I know."

He reached her. "What will happen?"

"I …" she furrowed her brow.

He smiled. "That's a rather vague question," he looked at the ground and then up to the sky beyond. "I suppose I was wondering if you'd consider keeping our arrangement, since I had promised you that this was an agreement for our travel North, only."

She watched as he looked back at her, concern in his eyes. "You hurt me," she said.

He nodded.

"You hurt me more than I've ever been hurt before."

He dropped his gaze. "Yes," he said very softly.

"We need to work some things out, yet. But yes. We can continue this, and perhaps, a bit more, at Winterfell."

He looked at her eagerly, with something like relief. "More?"

"More _time_, Jaime," she smiled.

"Oh! Yes of course," he replied, laughing a touch. "More time. That's what I thought. Obviously."

"Obviously," she smiled, then she cleared her throat. "I …I'm not sleeping in Sansa's tent this evening. I've opted to sleep outside."

"Have you?" he swallowed, and he began to walk back through the trees. "Allow me to suggest the smaller of the two large fires this evening for your reprieve, my Lady. The large one gets much too hot, even for the winter months. I'll be bunking there, as will Sandor and Arya. We can share some wine," they arrived at the camp.

"Thank you. That all sounds lovely."

He stopped. "Well. Why don't you get your things and Sandor will bring over the wine. I'll fetch you a bowl."

She nodded, then went to the tent to get her things.

"So?"

He looked. Arya Stark was standing next to him. "She's sleeping with us at the fire tonight."

"Excellent. Did you kiss her?"

He rolled his eyes. "No!"

She slapped his arm. "You're being a right bore."

"I'm being smart."

"I'll get her to kiss you tonight."

"Arya Stark, don't you dare," he said with heat, looking at her.

She was laughing. "Oh come on. You're no fun."

* * *

"It'll be a wonder to eat something other than gruel and fucking sparrows," Sandor said after dinner at the fire.

"Didn't I tell you? We lost our cooks at the winter battle," Arya said, looking at Jaime.

"Yes, you told me, Arya. Seems that they've asked for help from the militia to cook."

"You're fucking with me," said Sandor. "What about the feast we had?"

"That was made the previous day," Arya replied.

"Unless you want to help, Sandor? Can you cook?" Jaime sipped his wine.

"Better than you, golden boy."

"Is that a challenge?" Jaime sat up.

"Oh! Yes. Please the both of you cook. We can have a contest. The winner gets a prize," said Arya with some enthusiasm.

"What's the prize?" asked Sandor.

"The privilege of cooking for Winterfell forever," answered Jaime.

They all laughed.

"Can _you _cook, Jaime?" asked Brienne.

"There are many, many things I can do," he nodded with meaning. "Though I haven't been inside of a kitchen in some time," he smiled.

"It's a bet!" said Arya.

And they laughed…but Sandor looked at Jaime. "You can cook?"

"I have cooked, yes. Though when I had both hands."

"You've cooked? I thought your life was spent memorizing lines, swordplay, and impressing people."

Jaime smiled. "That. And some cooking."

"I'd like to taste your cooking," said Brienne. She paused. "I think."

And more laughter ensued.

"What if the prize is a kiss from the person the winner chooses?" offered Arya.

Jaime looked at her. _I'm gonna kill you_ he mouthed.

She smiled widely.

"That's not much of a prize," said Sandor.

"Depends," Brienne said.

"On?" Jaime looked at her.

"On whether the winner _wants_ a kiss."

Jaime cleared his throat. "Well…I think I'll head to the trees over there. Early day and all," he stood and walked over.

Arya looked at Brienne. "He loves you," she said.

Brienne felt flush. "It's complicated."

"No it's not. He's trying. And you can do what you want, but he loves you. And I love him, so I want him to be happy…"

"I see how much the three of you love one another…it makes me…" she looked at them both. "Long for it, too."

"You're here with us, ain't ya?" Sandor leaned forward. "You're a part of us."

"I'm here because of Jaime."

"Yes. But that doesn't mean that we don't want you here," said Arya. "He loves you, Brienne. That makes you part of us."

Brienne smiled. "Thank you."

Jaime returned. "Well…" he was looking at the makeshift beds.

Arya stood. "Sandor is just there," she pointed at one side of the fire. "I'm here," she pointed to the same side. "And you and Brienne are there," she nodded. "I'm going to the wood. Don't pass out and piss yourself Sandor. I don't love you enough to clean up that mess," and she stalked away.

Sandor sighed. "Kids," and he stood, walking in the other direction of the copse.

Jaime looked at Brienne. "Well…" he motioned for her to get into her bed.. "Unless you need to relieve yourself…"

"I'm fine," she went over and crawled in.

"Are you comfortable?"

"I'm laying on the cold ground. I'm as comfortable as can be expected."

"Can I get you your cloak?" he asked.

"All right," and she looked up at him.

Jaime nodded and walked to Sansa's tent. He slowly opened it. Sansa was immediately seen sitting at the table. "Pardon me, My Lady. I was wondering if I might retrieve Ser Brienne's cloak?"

"Come in, Ser Jaime," she stood.

He walked in…and saw that Jon Snow was there as well, but had been obscured by the tent.

"Hello, brother."

"Tyrion," Jaime's voice held some surprise. He hadn't seen him, either, at the far end of the table. "Apologies…I fear I may have interrupted something important."

"Not at all," said Sansa. "We were just speaking of the news that has no doubt spread like wildfyre across the camp."

"We've run out of wine?" he looked at Tyrion.

"We have done no such thing," he replied. "Jaime is attempting to bring some levity to our conversation," he smiled at his brother. "No. About the Queen's arrival."

"Ah, yes. That news."

"What are your thoughts, Jaime?" Sansa asked.

"_My_ thoughts?"

She nodded.

He looked at Jon Snow. "I think it's your thoughts we need to concern ourselves with. And yours," he looked at Tyrion. "For it's the two of you who can convince the Queen to allow Lady Sansa her independent North."

"I cannot convince the Queen of anything," replied Tyrion. "I am a traitor, and she will execute me the first chance she gets."

"And then I shall kill her dragon."

Jon laughed. "Have you seen that beast?"

"I have. And I saw one laying dead on King's Landing, shot from the sky," Jaime replied, some anger in it. "They are not invincible….they're big," he looked at Tyrion. "With enormous teeth." And he looked at Sansa. "And fire for breath," he smiled, shrugging. "But they can be killed, and that is the material point."

She was smiling at him. "Jaime's right. We can fight them."

"Our armies are in no condition to fight again, not after the two battles we've just faced, not to mention this journey," Jon argued.

"What do you want me to say? You're forever negative," Sansa said to him. "What would you have us do?" she spat. "We have been over and over this. I'm tired of it. If you want to go back to Daenerys Targaryen, then go. She will not be my Queen," Sansa was angry. She glared at Jon.

"Sansa…" Jon began. "I simply do not want to fight anymore. I'm tired. Everyone is."

"You want me to relinquish everything that we've worked for, because you're tired?"

"I don't want that, no."

"What _do_ you want, Aegon?" Tyrion asked.

Jon's eyes snapped to Jaime's, who gave no indication that he either knew or didn't know about his name. "I want…" Jon ran his hands through his hair. He looked at Sansa. "What I want, I cannot hope to have," and he left the tent.

"What the fuck did that mean?" Jaime said, looking at the two.

"I don't know," said Sansa.

"Don't you?" replied Tyrion.

She looked at him, swallowed. "Ser Jaime, her cloak is just there," she looked away from Tyrion and nodded in the direction of the cloak.

Jaime felt as though he had been a part of some play, and accidentally wandered on the stage. "Well, I'll see you both in the morning," he nodded to them, then left the tent. He went to the fire to find that Brienne had moved her bed closer to the fire, and that they were now sleeping next to each other, instead of lengthwise around the fire.

He swallowed. "Here's your cloak, Brienne," he handed it to her.

Sandor was snoring. Arya was facing away from the fire.

Jaime slid into the bed…Brienne was facing him. She smiled. "The night sky is clear."

He looked up. "It is."

"And tomorrow, we'll be back."

He nodded, then looked back at her. "I'm glad you're here."

She smiled, then closed her eyes.

He wondered about Arya's secret she was supposed to tell him that evening, and if it would have shed light on what Jon Snow had just done.

He watched her for some time before his own eyes closed, heavy with sleep… and he dreamed of summer on a lonely, craggy island.


	12. Chapter 12

There was a sound coming from the company…it was rather like a collective sigh. Winterfell could be seen in the distance.

Jaime looked up from his mount and smiled softly. Though the place had memories which were horrifying, it was as close to a home as he had now.

Casterly Rock…well. He didn't know when, or if, he'd see that place again. And King's Landing…though it had been home for the past twenty years, it was nothing to him now.

Who would have thought that Winterfell would be his home? Certainly not him.

He was at the back of the caravan, and looked for Brienne.

She was riding next to Sansa's carriage.

And he couldn't see Arya or Sandor, though he scanned the throng for them.

He supposed he would ask Sansa where he might stay, then try to find them. Perhaps have a wash.

…and it occurred to him that his clothes, if they still existed, were likely in Brienne's room… and he panicked slightly.

Would she allow him to come in and get something else to wear? Would she chuck him out? Would she laugh and tell him that she'd thrown it all away? Or burned it all?

No…even if she _had_ gotten rid of his things, she wouldn't be cruel.

He was the cruel one. He had said all of those things to her, just so it would be easier for both of them to deal with his departure. He had convinced himself that he'd done it for her, but he had done it for him, too. If he believed that he deserved no better fate than dying while killing his sister, then perhaps he'd be able to do it successfully.

Jaime looked at the courtyard where he had seen her…had listened to her crying. Had vomited as he had left.

He looked over at her, but she was gone. Sansa had left the carriage, and Tyrion was walking toward him.

Jaime dismounted and took his smallish bag. He met his brother. "How was the rest of your journey?" he asked.

"Fine. I've arranged for you to have a room next to mine. Is that all right?"

He nodded absentmindedly. "I'll need to see if…" he swallowed, looking at the castle. "If she still has my things. She may have gotten rid of them."

"Come, Jaime. I'll see you to your room," Tyrion walked in through the door, Jaime following. "We are going to have the smiths start right away on a machine that can kill Drogon. I hope that it doesn't come to that, but it may. He's a weapon that no one can best."

He was mostly paying attention. "When are you expecting her to arrive?"

"We are unsure. She may have sent a crow already to Winterfell, announcing her impending arrival. Or she may simply show here in a few days."

"What do you think she wants?"

"Sansa to bend the knee," Tyrion responded. "Chop off my head."

"I won't let her. And neither will Sansa."

"No one will be able to stop her."

Jaime stopped. "Listen to me. Since Cersei has died, I've had a clarity of mind I've never experienced. I know what's important to me, and I mean to protect it and what's more, I know that I can…because I feel as though I'm seeing everything though new eyes. So our Queen shall not harm you. Nor anyone else that I care for. Understood?"

Tyrion smiled. "I'm not afraid of her, Jaime."

"Good. She's a maniac and a tyrant…" he shifted his weight. "Let's go, hm? I'm positively dying to get out of these clothes."

"I'll have someone bring you fresh ones and a bath…" Tyrion said, and they walked further down the corridor. "What plans do you have for the evening?"

"I …well. I'm supposed to cook with Sandor. And Arya and I are to start…" he paused. He promised Sandor he wouldn't say anything. "We're looking for a book she loved as a child in the library. I imagine that there's things that remain for clean up. Perhaps we can discuss that at dinner."

"What about Ser Brienne?"

They reached Jaime's room. "I'll find her," he looked at his feet.

"You're nervous. I thought that things were progressing."

"They are. But we're back here…where we had started a life of sorts. And I'm thinking that she might be reminded…"

"Stop it Jaime. Just go to her, will you?" he smiled. "The bath will be here shortly," and Tyrion nodded and turned.

Jaime nodded. "Thank you," he muttered, and he looked at the door, then opened it.

It felt cold inside…but the bed was welcoming. It wasn't a terribly large room, but quite comfortable, and there was a pleasant tableau to be seen from the window. It was more than he had last time, and better than he expected.

He couldn't go to her. Not yet.

If he was being honest, he wanted for her to find him. But that was a foolish thought…she had things that needed doing. She wasn't thinking about him the way he was thinking about her.

And to think…all those years ago…how awful their relationship was. He, her captor. And trying to escape.

And he wasn't sorry for losing his hand. At first, yes. But he knew that that was a turning point for him. It changed him in every way possible.

He was looking out into the winter scene. The hills rolled white…the air still. He'd be here for the winter, however long it lasted. This was where he would stay…Brienne would be here. Arya. Hopefully Sandor and Tyrion.

He smiled.

He was home.

* * *

It was dark when he left his room cleaned and with new clothes on. He felt like a different man. It was glorious.

Dinner would be ready soon, and he wanted to find Arya to talk about Sandor, and if their bet was actually going to be a bet. If so, he'd suggest them making some mid day meal the following day. He wasn't nervous about it. It was all in good fun, anyway.

Jaime walked down the fire lit halls toward the main dining room.

He turned a corner…

"Jaime!"

He stopped. "Brienne," he said, and swallowed. He had been taken unawares and his heart sped up. They had nearly run into each other. "Ah…" he regained himself. "How was the rest of your journey?"

"Good," she breathed. "Fine. Yours?"

He nodded. "It was good. I'm happy to be in clean clothes."

She smiled. "It is a relief, yes."

"Are you…are you heading for the dining hall?"

"No…well. Yes. Eventually. I'm delivering some commands to the smith."

He nodded. "Good," he smiled. "Can I save you a seat, or are you eating with Lady Sansa?"

"No. I have no seating plans," she smiled, then dropped her gaze.

"Then might I ask you to sit near me…I'm not certain where everyone else will be."

"I'm not sure that there are seating arrangements, Jaime. It's only just dinner," she looked at him, a playful gleam on her features.

…and he was struck at her beauty. "No, but I imagine that Sansa, possibly Arya, and certainly Jon will be at the head table."

"Arya will want to sit where you and Sandor are."

"She may not have a choice."

"No one will deny Arya anything that she wants…not after what she did."

He nodded. "Wise as ever, my Lady."

She blanched. "I should go."

"All right…?" he regarded her quizzically. "I'll see you there, then."

Brienne bowed and brushed passed him.

He watched her go a moment and then began walking once more. What had he said to incite that reaction?

He walked into the hall, already filling with hungry and weary travelers. The last time it had been this full was the night of the winter battle…and he swallowed. That was their first night together. He wondered if that memory had caused her disquiet.

Jaime spotted Sandor at a lone table in the front, to the right of the head table. He smiled and walked over to him.

"Is this seat taken?" he asked, selecting the chair across from him.

Sandor looked up at him. "Don't be a cock. Sit down."

He did. "What's the fare?"

"Fare?"

"Ah…the food?"

"Winter quail and potatoes."

"Wonderful," and he poured them both some wine. "How are you feeling? Did you wash?"

"Can't you tell?"

Jaime looked at him. "Yeeesss?" he replied, unsure, his brow furrowing a bit.

"Fuck off."

He smiled. "Where is your room?"

Sandor looked at him. "You ain't my type."

"Damn," said Jaime with a smile.

He sat back, laughing a touch. "I'm where I've always been in every fucking castle because that's where I want to be."

"Is it a secret?"

"No."

Jaime waited. "It's so nice sharing these moments with you, Sandor. You really know how to have a meaningful conversation."

"I'm not telling you because I don't want to be bothered until at least these stupid fucking people leave."

"Which stupid fucking people?"

"All those Targaryen cunts. Her fucking armies. She's fucking invading Winterfell."

"Well…" he leaned forward. "Invade might be a severe term for it."

"It's not," and a black, heavy thing fell in front of him. Jaime looked up at Arya smiling. "She's invading. She's just not calling it that."

"What's…" he looked down at the table in front of him.

And there was a pewter hand.

"They just finished it. It's not as fancy as your golden one…"

"I love it," he picked it up. It wasn't as heavy…he slid it on, and it was snug, just as it should be. "Perfect. Thank you, Arya," he smiled as she sat next to him.

"I told you I'd fix it," she nodded and poured herself some wine.

"Are you sitting with Sansa?" Jaime asked her.

"No. Not unless I want to," she sipped. "Where is the food? I'm starving."

"No one knows how to run a fucking kitchen anymore. A bunch of cunts back there think they know, but here we all are, starving to death."

"Well, then your chance has come, and you can prove yourself tomorrow, Sandor," said Arya. "I've arranged for the two of you to help in the kitchen for breakfast."

Jaime laughed. "Excellent."

"So. You two…in the morning. Be sure to be there early," she smiled. "And then we can get to work in the library for a bit before Sansa calls a meeting…" Arya looked at Jaime. "But if you and Brienne are busy, I can take him to the library."

"I don't think…" he began…but the food came. He looked around for Brienne, but didn't see her.

Sansa stood at the table. "Friends!" she yelled. "We are here to recuperate from our journey. We are here to remind ourselves what we are fighting for. And to celebrate an independent North. Let's not forget who we are," she raised her glass. "The North!" she yelled.

"The North!" everyone returned.

Jaime sipped and saw Brienne standing in the doorway. He nodded to her.

She walked over, a bit pensive.

He stood as she took her seat next to Sandor. The food was brought out and they served themselves. He looked up at the head table to see Sansa, Jon, and Tyrion there. It never ceased to amaze him how Tyrion was always a part of the leading forces in whatever environment he was in.

"What will you cook tomorrow?" Arya asked the two men.

"I'm not telling anyone," said Sandor.

Jaime laughed. "He has many ancient family recipes for gruel and cannot divulge them."

"Shut the fuck up," Sandor shoved some potato in his mouth.

They laughed. Jaime turned to Arya. "What was the secret you were going to tell me?"

She looked at him…and then glanced at Brienne. "How good are you at keeping secrets?"

Brienne canted her head. "I'm the best secret keeper in Westeros."

"It's true," began Jaime. "I've told her mine. And she's never even uttered them to me, so I've forgotten them all."

"Will you shut up?"

And they laughed.

"All right. This doesn't leave this table…" Arya looked around. Everyone was talking amongst themselves. "I think that," she lowered her voice. "I think that Jon is in love with Sansa."

No one moved. They were all staring at Arya.

"What the fuck," said Sandor.

"Well…do you think that she loves him?" Jaime asked.

Arya looked up at the table. "I'm not sure."

"What has he done to induce these thoughts?" asked Brienne.

"Well, it's the way he looks at her…like he's longing. And how he's distancing himself from the Queen. And his sorrow…" she looked at Brienne. "Also, I all but heard him tell Davos," she laughed.

"All but?" Jaime asked. "What does that mean?"

"It means he said, 'But what do I do? She was raised as my sister'."

"Well, it's possible that he wasn't talking about love. Or that he was talking about you…" Jaime offered.

"He is not in love with _me_."

"No I know. I meant that he could be talking about something altogether different in relation to you."

"I think that she's piecing it together, Jaime. He's this, he's that, and he told Ser Davos this thing," said Brienne.

"Yes exactly," said Arya.

"What does it mean, though?" Jaime asked. "What does it mean for all of us?" he looked around.

"It means that he won't marry the Queen," said Arya in a soft voice.

Sandor sighed. "This is fucking ridiculous."

"I can ask Tyrion. He probably knows," Jaime looked at his brother.

"Love is so fucking complicated. Everyone wants it. But no one has it."

"That's not true," said Arya. "People have it. There are people who love…and who are loved in return."

There was an uneasy silence for a moment. "I fucking hate all of you," Sandor said. "Now you all can start talking again."

And they laughed.

They had finished their meal and the wine was gone.

Jaime was sleepy, and longing for bed. He looked at them all. "I need to retire."

Brienne cleared her throat. "As do I …preparations for tomorrow," she stood.

"I'll walk you," Jaime said.

"Saw that fucking coming," muttered Sandor.

Arya kicked him under the table. "Good night," she smiled at Brienne, then Jaime.

"See you in the morning," he said to Arya. "Prepare yourself, Sandor. See you in the kitchen," and he followed Brienne from the room. "It was truly wonderful having a meal in clean clothes."

"Were your clothes that filthy? You've mentioned it several times."

He smiled. "I suppose so. Will you eat the breakfast tomorrow?"

"I wouldn't miss it."

They reached her room. "Well…" he stood there a moment. "Good night, my Lady," he bowed.

"Jaime."

"Yes?" he stood to meet her eyes.

"Please don't call me a lady. I am no such thing."

"What do you mean?"

She sighed. "You keep calling me 'my Lady'. I'm not."

"Brienne…you are Lord Selwyn Tarth's daughter. You are a Lady. And what's more, I regard you as a Lady."

She shook her head.

"Brienne…" he took her hand. "You are _my_ Lady," and he kissed it, dropped it, and met her gaze. "Good night," and he turned to walk to his room.

Brienne smiled.


	13. Chapter 13

Brienne closed the door behind her.

She was still shaking somewhat, and it irritated her that he maintained that kind of control over her.

Because it _was_ control. No matter what she did, she always found herself looking for him. It was like they were tied at opposite ends of a rope, and he'd pull her, and she'd follow.

It terrified her.

She sat on the edge of her bed and hung her head. She needed to start thinking about herself. Ever since she'd left for King's Landing, she'd thought almost constantly of Jaime Lannister. When she saw him in that hall of the Red Keep, she was relieved. But then, it was almost as though her insecurities were reborn with his survival. Even though she had gone there to slay Cersei and spare him the pain, she hadn't dealt with his leaving her.

The things he had said.

And her melancholy crept back into the forefront of her mind…her pain of being ugly and lumbering. The notion that she could not be a Lady, she could only be a warrior.

Brienne's pain had never really left her, rather, it tied itself into a knot in her stomach. The pain _was_ her, and she needed to be acknowledged sometimes. She would creep into her dreams and remind her that she was still there…

And it wasn't that Brienne didn't think that she could be a woman and a warrior, it was that she believed she couldn't be accepted as such. Her young self reminded her constantly that no one would love her, because she couldn't _be_ loved as she was.

Jaime had changed that for a short while, even though he had never told her he loved her. Even though he had never said that he would not leave her…he had made plans to stay…it was _implied. _She had, foolishly, it turned out, believed that he would eventually say those things out loud to her. He just needed time.

And she wanted to believe him, because he had given her everything that she had ever wanted in life to that point:

A knighthood.

Then he became something to her that she never thought was possible: her lover.

And she knew that she loved him. She had for ever so long, but had dismissed it as impossible. What she had felt for Renly paled in comparison.

When he left, she had rationalized it. And though she believed she was correct, there was a part of her that thought that he had left because he did not love her. Could not love her. She was inadequate.

And those thoughts brimmed when she discovered his relationship with Arya and Sandor Clegane. He had sought their company…they were on a shared mission. And she was jealous.

Brienne wasn't often jealous. She had mostly accepted, at least in her waking life, who and what she was. Her longing came to her in her dreams. And mostly, over the years, she had dreamed of Jaime Lannister.

But she _was_ jealous of the closeness they shared. Their friendship. She had wanted to be those things to him, but he had sought them elsewhere.

Brienne laid back in the bed. She had heard once that in a relationship, one person always loves the other more.

She supposed that she was that person.

She turned to her side.

He was trying, though. She saw that.

But she could not account for it. Did he just want to be forgiven? Did he want to be back in her bed? Surely there were other ladies that would fulfill that need for him…he was quite handsome, after all.

But Arya had told her that Jaime loved her. He _loved_ her. Even though he had never said it to _her_.

And that made her angry, too.

She was tired of being angry. Tired of being sad. She wanted to move on, but she was terrified to. She was terrified that he'd leave her again.

Because he had proven that he could.

Brienne closed her eyes, and as she did, a tear fell and landed on her pillow.

* * *

Jaime Lannister looked well. He had slept well for the first time in a month. He had clean clothes on. He was prepared to play along with Arya's little game…her way to get him a kiss from Brienne.

Though he knew that it was silly and childish, it was in good fun.

And should he win this ridiculous bet, he would not cash in on it in front of everyone. Brienne would never forgive him.

He straightened his coat after the squire left and he strolled down the hall to the kitchen.

Sandor was there already.

"Well, good morning Sandor. Preparing to lose?"

"You think you're gonna win, Lannister-Stark?" he looked at him and stirred the pot.

"Of course," he laughed, then turned to one of the cooks. "Can you help me with these sleeves?" he smiled. "Thank you for allowing this." Jaime would never have thanked a cook before, and it just struck him how it seemed the natural and right thing to do.

Cersei had poisoned him utterly. He paused and turned.

Sandor was looking at him.

"What?" Jaime asked.

"Nothing. Just admiring that new hand…"

Jaime nodded and asked for some ingredients from the cook. "What about it?"

"It suits you."

"Better than the gold one?" he got a pot and went over to the hearth.

"Different than the gold one."

"Well, it's not gold, is it?"

"No. And neither are you anymore, Lannister-Stark."

Jaime laughed. "Why are you calling me that?"

"Should it just be Stark, then?"

He looked up. "Only if you're Sandor Stark."

He chuckled. "I won't be around long enough."

"What do you mean?"

"You think I'm gonna stay in the fucking North forever?"

Jaime stopped and put the knife he was using down. "What are you saying? You're leaving?"

"Not right away, don't have a fit. But yes. I will leave eventually…and so will you, Jaime. With or without Ser Brienne of Tarth."

He swallowed. Every time her name was mentioned…every time he was in close proximity to her, he felt a lump in his throat. It was becoming ridiculous. He threw some potato into the pot to simmer. "Yes. I don't plan on staying indefinitely…but at least through the winter. How long will it last this time, do you think, with the Night's armies gone?"

"Probably a year or so."

He nodded. "Yes. That's what I thought," Jaime tossed some of the sausage into a pan over the hearth. "You'll stay through that, won't you?"

Sandor turned to look at him. "Will you miss me?" he smirked.

"No," said Jaime. "Because you're not leaving," and he continued to work.

* * *

The crowd had gathered, and there was a lot of laughter in the hall as Jaime stood in the archway looking around at them all. He was thinking about what Sandor had said, and thought that he and Arya would just have to convince him to hang about.

He'd listen to Arya.

Jaime knew that Sandor's love for Arya eclipsed his love for him. As it should. Arya and the Hound had been through so much together.

He was a late joiner.

He crossed his arms and watched as Sansa and Jon arrived, sitting at the head table. He looked around for Tyrion…

Jaime smiled. He must be nursing a headache from the previous night's feast.

Arya arrived and walked to the head table. "So we're having a contest, and Sansa and Jon are the judges. They'll taste both meals and decide the winner. Then everyone can eat. If they don't choose the same one, Davos will be the deciding vote."

Jaime smiled, and looked around for Sandor.

And there he was, standing opposite in the hall.

And Jaime looked for Brienne…

But his attention then was diverted to the head table. Sansa took a bite of his breakfast. She smiled. Then took a sip of wine. She reached over and took a bite of Sandor's offering. She nodded, took a sip of wine.

Then turned to Jon, who had just finished tasting his.

"Which one do you prefer?" she asked him.

He pointed at Sandor's. "This one. But they're both good," he said, as though trying not to hurt anyone.

Sansa stood. "We choose the second bowl," she smiled at Jaime.

"That's Sandor's," said Arya, looking at Jaime, her eyes wide.

Her plan had failed.

He shrugged. "Congratulations, Sandor!" he yelled across the hall.

He stepped forward, looking at Arya. He shrugged. "Who'd have thought? I bested Jaime fucking Lannister," he laughed.

Jaime walked up to him and shook his hand. "You mean Jaime Lannister-Stark, don't you?" he said softly.

"Well…" Arya said. "Ah…I guess you get a kiss," she said, defeated.

"Shut the fuck up," said Sandor. "Who is gonna kiss me?" he laughed.

"I will."

Everyone looked up at Sansa.

And she walked over to Sandor…"You don't have to do this, Little Bird," he said. "I'm fine."

"It's the prize," she said, and she placed her hands on his shoulders, reached up, and kissed him very softly on the mouth. "Congratulations," she said.

…and Jon Snow stood abruptly. He looked around. Then left the hall.

Sansa watched him go, then looked at Arya.

They all stood there knowing what everyone was thinking…

Jon was jealous.

Jaime turned. "Well…I'll just…" and he saw Brienne, at the back of the hall. Their eyes met. "I'll be back," he said, and walked toward her.

He watched as she shifted uncomfortably, and wondered slightly at it. Was she thinking about last night, when he'd called her "my Lady?"

"Good morning," he said, reaching her.

"Did I miss it?" she asked, looking around him.

"I'm afraid so."

"And?" she caught his eye.

"I lost."

She stared at him. Then smiled. Then guffawed. "What?" she said, laughing.

"Is that funny?" but he was returning her smile.

"Yes," she stammered in between laughter.

"Sandor bested me."

"Oh!" she held her stomach. "That is marvelous."

Jaime started to laugh now. "Come…let's away," and he took her elbow, leading her out of the hall as she settled her laughter.

And they walked the hall down to the entrance of the castle, Jaime asking how she was…Brienne asking about the breakfast and what happened with Jon.

They reached the entrance and stopped. Jaime hadn't realized that they had passed the hall to turn to the back courtyard. He was thinking about walking to the library. He'd figured that Arya and Sandor would be there soon.

But instead they were fifty yards from where he had abandoned her that night. Just through the window he could see it.

He looked at her, ashen faced.

She looked back, then dropped her eyes.

"Brienne…"

She swallowed, but turned to look at him. "We're back here."

He nodded, then looked at the spot. The spot where she had begged him to stay with her. "It was an accident."

"What was?"

And he looked at her. "Heading this way."

"Perhaps it was meant to be."

"Sorry?"

"We should talk, Jaime."

He felt his stomach clinch. He nodded, then looked around. "Come…" and he led her to a small room with some chairs and a table. "Let's sit."

She sighed, then sat. Her hands were shaking.

Jaime sat across from her. He waited for her…he would not force her to do anything.

She finally looked at him. "It's been terrible."

He nodded.

"And I hate feeling this way. But I cannot seem to stop it." She shifted. "Everything hurts all the time. Everything that I've ever worried about keeps surfacing in my mind. And it's all because of you."

His throat constricted, but he did not speak.

"I had convinced myself that you left me because you wanted to kill her, so I followed, thinking that I might be able to get there before you did, and commit the crime. I had wanted so badly to spare you. It was a quest of sorts…a race, even. Honor and everything that I was…tossed aside for this. For you, even though you had left me there. A shell of who I was," she swallowed and looked at her lap. "And I arrived at King's Landing. I looked for you…and I thought that you'd arrived before me, until we met the Lannister armies. Somehow, they seemed as though they were expecting me. They separated Pod and I…I was removed immediately to the dungeon, and I heard Pod some time later being locked away. We were there for two days before I was able to escape…and I …" she felt the tears behind her eyes. "Against my better judgment, I freed Pod as well, telling him to run for the Northern armies. I have no idea what happened to him," and twin tears spilled down her face.

Jaime longed to reach for her, to comfort her, but he stayed put. His mismatched hands in his lap.

"And there you were. You were there, and Cersei was dead. But with Arya and Sandor, which I couldn't understand. I followed you all, not knowing what I was doing…and it wasn't until the next day that I realized just how close you had become with them. And it hurt, even though I didn't think it was possible for me to hurt any more than I did already," she paused, and looked at him fully. "I wanted to be there for you. I knew that you had unfinished business with Cersei. I knew that she was a specter in your life. I knew that you had love to give to your sister…as a sister. And now Arya was that for you. I saw all of those things.

But Jaime," and she leaned forward and her voice was a plea. "How could you not have known what leaving would do to me? You've known me for so long…and if you did know, how could you have done it?"

He opened his mouth…

"No. I'm not through."

He nodded.

"It made me realize just how unworthy I was. Everything that I had known all along about myself was suddenly there again. The girl who had been passed over time and again had resurfaced, and she was laughing at me. I saw you trying. I felt your gaze. But it was there only to mock me. I could not be fooled again…it would kill me. So I've kept you at a distance because I mean to live. You won't hurt me like that. You can't. I won't let you," she paused. And her eyes fell to the table. "It felt as though you had abandoned me, and our life, and traded it for the love of your new brother and sister. You chose that love. You didn't need me. And you told them that you loved them…" she looked at him. "But not me. Never me. So, I suppose, you don't, nor have you ever. Though I've softened somewhat these past couple of days because it's felt ridiculous to continue when you seem so eager for forgiveness. So you have it, Jaime. You're forgiven. Is that what you wanted?"

"By the gods, Brienne. What have I done?"

"Beg your pardon?"

He swallowed, tears on the surface of his eyes. "No. That's not what I wanted. At least, that's not _all_ I wanted."

"You're a selfish man. What else can you want?"

He stared at her. "You."

"Me," she said, incredulous.

"Brienne. I …I'm not sure when I became so stupid. Though Cersei did say that I was always the stupidest Lannister," he muttered, eyes falling. Then he looked at her again. "I suppose I assumed that you knew. That you…realized. That you were nursing some hurt…not a broken heart. That you despised me, but not that you were ignorant of me…of my own heart. But that was, once again, my error. They seem to be limitless…"

"Jaime what are you talking about?"

"I'm telling you that I'm in love with you."

And Brienne nearly fell out of her chair.


	14. Chapter 14

"Brienne?"

She was staring at him.

"Brienne? Are you all right?"

Nothing.

Jaime started to get nervous. He stood and went to her, kneeling next to her. "Brienne…say something, for the love of all that's holy," he took her hand.

And she looked at him. "Say it again."

"I love you," he said, and he rubbed his thumb against hers.

She smiled.

He sighed. "Are you all right?"

"Yes. I believe I am."

Jaime stood and pulled his chair next to her and sat. "I'm sorry that I never said it before now. It would have spared you pain."

"It would have," she said softly.

He shook his head, lowered his eyes. "Well. Does this change things, then?"

"Change what?"

"That is…how you're feeling. About yourself," he looked at her. "About me," he said breathed.

She smiled at him. "Perhaps."

"Perhaps?" he was incredulous. "What does that…?" but she silenced him with a kiss. And it was depend quite quickly.

He pulled her close, teasing her mouth open with his own…and it was more of a homecoming that he'd ever experienced. She threaded her fingers through his hair, his hand found its way to the back of her neck. They could not get close enough. Tongues danced and teeth nipped, and there was not time nor space for breath. It was desperate and needful…replete with want and nerve. His took her lower lip in his teeth and bit softly, and it was only then that she issued any noise.

It beckoned him closer, and he felt his want simmer, blood rushing to his groin…he pulled away and he leaned his forehead to hers. "We'll need to stop, unless I can take you to bed this instant," he pulled away, looking around. "I could have you on this table now if you'll allow it."

She blushed, and it pleased him to see her thus: flush with desire, lips swollen…pupils blown wide. "Perhaps not this time," she said.

"No," but he smiled and sat back. "Thank the gods," he said with some relief.

"What? Is it very difficult to…" she looked at the table.

"Oh! No. I was thanking the gods that you'd forgiven me."

"I did say that, didn't I?"

His face fell. "Are you changing your mind?"

"No. No…"

"What?"

She shook her head. "Nothing."

He nodded. "Well…I'm to meet Sandor and Arya in the library. But that can wait if you've got time. What are your plans for the day?"

"I need to help Lady Sansa with preparations for the Queen's arrival."

"She'll be here soon. Have we had any word as to when?"

"No. No crow was sent."

Jaime felt the need to touch her pressing on his mind. He knew that she'd pull away, though, since she had things to tend to, and he didn't want to spoil things. "Perhaps later then?"

Brienne nodded. "Later."

He stood and took her hand, smiling. "Come, my Lady. I'll see you to wherever you need to be."

She stood and followed him out the door. "Jaime?"

"Hm?"

"When did you stop loving Cersei?"

He cleared his throat. "It was gradual, I think. But I realized it right before I left the Keep. She was not who I thought she was. Or rather, I realized that she was what everyone had always told me she was," he looked at her. "Does that make sense?"

"Yes. Why did you love her?"

He looked away. "I've told you. We don't choose who we love," he looked at the stone floor beneath his feet. He couldn't defend himself, nor did he want to. Brienne knew who he was. He would not rehash his entire life to her now, not when their love was so fragile.

But she was unsatisfied with that answer…perhaps she would never know. Perhaps she would need to content herself with the simple fact that he fell out of love with her. "Yes. I remember you telling me that while we were on the road so many years ago."

He looked over at her…trying to recall…"What was the context?"

"We had been speaking about Renly…"

He stopped. "Ah…yes. I remember. Did you honestly love him?"

She shrugged. "Yes."

He shook his head smiling. "Well, that was a long time ago…" he turned and started walking again.

"It was, yes," she felt odd speaking about Renly again.

"And have you danced with anyone besides him since?"

Brienne stopped now. "Why?"

"Call it curiosity," he stopped too, smiling at her.

"What are you up to?"

"Nothing," he replied, aghast.

She offered a crooked smirk. "No. I don't dance."

"Nor do I, thank the gods."

"Really? A Knight such as yourself doesn't dance? I find that difficult to believe."

"I _have_ danced," he began walking again. "We'll never reach our destination if we keep stopping like this," he chuckled.

She followed, smiling. She wondered at her smiling so freely now…it almost felt odd, after not having done it save a few times with Jaime, Arya, and Sandor for over a month. Always Jaime, though. He could always make her smile…"And you thought we'd never get to Lady Sansa because we'd be busy with other things."

He looked at her. "Ser Brienne, this is shocking. How are you come to mention such things?" he laughed.

And she returned it. "Here…" it was the map room. She swallowed and looked at him. "I'll see you at dinner. Are you cooking again?" she asked playfully.

"No, I'm afraid you missed the one and only opportunity to taste my cooking."

"That is a loss," she smirked.

He shrugged. "It wasn't that good. The North doesn't have the luxury of unique ingredients to create a singular dish."

"Pretty words for some gruel."

He laughed. "Something has to make it pretty."

She nodded.

"But you sampling it might have accomplished that…" he said softly, taking her hand.

She blushed, desperately wanting him to stop commenting on her beauty, or lack thereof.

He kissed her hand. "Until later, then."

"Later," and she turned and waked into the room.

And Jaime turned…

"So it's finally happened. She's forgiven you."

"Hello, Tyrion."

"You appear well. Refreshed?"

Jaime rolled his eyes. "You truly are a dog."

"Come now, Jaime. How was it?"

"_It_ hasn't happened. But yes, she's forgiven me."

"Good. Excellent…" he looked at the door. "Are you a part of these machinations?"

"No…no. I was going to find Arya and Sandor. We are to meet in the library…" he paused. "But it's possible that they're in there with everyone."

"Arya might be. But not Clegane," he walked passed him.

"Do you know when the Queen arrives?"

"Two days. Not that we've received a crow, but the consensus is two days."

Jaime sighed, then remembered that he was to ask him something. "Oh! Come, I have a question for you…" he placed his hand on his brother's shoulder. He led him into an alcove. "Jon is in love with Sansa, isn't he?"

Tyrion took a deep breath. "He hasn't said anything to me, but Davos told me as much, yes."

"And does she return it?"

"It's unclear. I'd wager that there is something there."

Jaime leaned back into the wall. "Does this complicate things, or make the path more clear?"

"Well, it depends."

"On?"

"On where Daenerys is in all this."

"It never seemed like there was much there…it almost felt as though they felt like they _had_ to love each other. Not like they actually did," Jaime said softly.

"You observed that, too?"

He shrugged. "It was obvious to me."

"Well, if Daenerys does not love him, then it might be easier. She might just want to be done with it all."

"Unlikely."

Tyrion smiled. "Yes…and she will insist that I'm burned alive, no doubt."

"How many times must I tell you? I won't let that happen."

"It might be for the best, honestly. I've never truly paid for my crimes."

"Have I?"

"You lost your hand…"

Jaime folded his arms, looking at him. "And you were born a dwarf."

Tyrion smiled at him. "Well. No arguing that point."

"Tyrion?"

"Yes?"

"What happened to you?"

He furrowed his brow. "What do you mean?"

"You…you used to be self assured in your abilities…and while it seems as though some confidence has returned, you were not the same man. Not when we met in the dungeons…"

"I've been through much, I suppose."

"No. Something in particular."

He swallowed. "Insecurities. They can resurface in anyone, especially one of my stature."

Jaime nodded. "All right," and he dragged his gaze away. "I should go, as should you," and they left the alcove.

"See you at dinner," said Tyrion as he watched his brother leave.

* * *

Jaime got lost but once on his way to the library. Well, practice was in order, and since he'd have precious little to do after the Queen left, he supposed he'd figure things out.

His steps were light…his mind clear and focused. His relief was palpable…after weeks of despair and uncertainty, Cersei was dead and Brienne was his again. He had a home. A family. Everyone he cared about was under the same roof…

He would be damned if some Targaryen Queen would ruin his first chance at happiness. Because honestly, he had never been all that happy.

Contented, yes. But happy…not so much.

The only thing missing was a child, since he had only ever been a father for about two minutes before his daughter died in his arms.

He wouldn't press that, though. In time, perhaps. Everything was fragile yet…they both needed time.

He walked into the library…

"Well. Someone looks happy for just having lost a bet."

He smiled at Sandor. "Hello," and he sat across from him. "Where's Arya?"

"Map room."

He nodded…"Which book is that?"

Sandor held it up: _A Historie of the Longest Winter _

"Ah…bit dull…perhaps we can read something more captivating."

"Am I fucking doing this or you?"

He smiled. "All right. Let's begin…"

Sandor opened the book to the first page. "In…the…far…north…the Wild…"

"Wildlings."

"Wildlings…have…"

And on it went for an hour. Jaime was fairly impressed with how much Sandor knew. He wasn't that bad at all.

Arya finally came in and sat across from them. "Sorry that took so long," she looked at Jaime. "You're to go tomorrow."

"What?" he regarded her quizzically.

"Sansa wants you there for tomorrow's meeting."

"Me?" he asked bemusedly.

"Are you fucking deaf? Lady Sansa wants you at the meeting tomorrow…" Sandor rolled his eyes. "Fucking hell."

"But…why?"

"I'm not sure."

Jaime looked at Sandor. "Why?"

"You're fucking dumb. Stop teaching me," he snatched the book away.

Arya laughed a touch. "How are things here?"

"Really good," said Jaime, recovering from laughter. "He only needs occasional help."

"And what about you and Ser Brienne? She was looking decidedly less glum."

Jaime smirked, eyes falling.

"He fucking did it!" exclaimed Sandor.

"Did what? You're not suggesting what I think you are…" he said, looking at the Hound.

"You kissed her?" Arya asked softly.

"I did, yes. I told her that I loved her…and…" he paused. "Actually, she kissed me."

Arya slammed the table. "There it is! Excellent!" she laughed.

Jaime laughed along. "It is a relief…"

She looked at Sandor. "Now we just need to usher that Queen out of here and get you reading."

"You have a list?" asked Jaime.

She smiled, "Always."

* * *

The three were walking to dinner.

"How long are you two planning on staying at Winterfell?" asked Jaime.

"I have no idea," said Sandor.

"Through the winter," said Arya.

He stopped, looking around. "Can we make a promise to each other?"

Sandor rolled his eyes. "Fucking promises."

Arya nudged him with her elbow. "What is it, Jaime?"

"We all stay here through at least the winter, and then we take our positions under review."

She nodded.

Sandor stared at him. "I can't make that promise. I need to be done, Jaime. Don't want to fight anymore. If that cunt is coming up here to battle, it'll be my last."

"Of course, but once that cunt is beaten," he smiled. "There will be no need to fight anymore."

"How do you know we'll beat her?"

"Because the alternative is unthinkable," Jaime returned. "And I want my family all under the same roof. That means you both, Brienne, and Tyrion."

He sighed, looked at Arya. "What about you?"

"I'm here for Sansa as she needs me. And I want to be here for Jaime."

"All fucking right."

Jaime smiled wildly. "Good. It's decided then," and they walked into the hall.

It was abuzz and though there was a sense of nervousness, there was also mirth. Jaime looked around, and spotted Brienne speaking with Jon.

It appeared to be a heated conversation. Jaime's face fell, and he strode to the front of the room…"What's going on?"

"We're having a discussion," said Jon.

Jaime looked at Brienne, searching her face. She smiled, and nodded.

Jaime swallowed, offered Jon a lingering gaze, then looked back at Brienne. "Will you join Arya and Sandor and I?"

"Yes, thank you," she said.

And he went to the table they were sitting at.

"What happened?" Arya asked.

"I'm not sure. I didn't like the way he was looking at her when they were speaking."

"Oh, that's just Jon. He's a passionate man," she said, looking at Jaime earnestly. "Were you jealous?"

"No. But he looked like he was being rude. I'll have none of that."

She nodded, apparently pleased with the answer. "How's the hand working out?"

He smiled at her. "Remarkably well. Sandor here prefers it to the other one."

"You outgrew the other one."

"Sandor fancies my hand reflects me as a person…"

"Maybe it does," said Arya.

"I certainly hope not. It's hollow…"

"You said it," said Sandor.

Jaime laughed. "Well, I'm not Tyrion, but I'm not wholly empty."

"Sansa doesn't think so," said Arya. "I think that's why she wants you there tomorrow."

"I still can't believe it. What could I possibly offer?" And Brienne sat next to him. "Hello," he said, taking her hand in his.

"Jaime, Jon was talking strategy to me…that's all."

"It wasn't that…he appeared to be angry."

"He's frustrated."

"Well, aren't we all?" he dropped her hand and poured wine all around.

"Some more than others," said Arya.

"I wonder how long we'll need to wait for our fucking food tonight," said Sandor.

"See? Sandor's frustrated," smiled Arya.

"Arya! You made a joke!" Jaime raised his cup to her.

And Brienne laughed…she was so pleased to be sitting there with them, next to Jaime, with full knowledge of his heart. She truly felt as though she belonged there.

And she did.


	15. Chapter 15

Brienne watched as Jaime drank…she noted that he was drinking a bit more than was his custom, but then, she hadn't ever really seen him drink all that much. She wondered if it was because he was nervous. Or something else. Perhaps it was just due to Sandor drinking.

Jaime looked at her smiling, recovering from laughter. But then his expression changed, and his eyes narrowed in question. He leaned over to her. "Are you quite well?" he asked softly.

"Fine," she replied.

He nodded. "Tired?"

"A bit."

Jaime turned to Arya and Sandor. "Excuse us," and he stood.

"Goodnight, Brienne, Jaime," Arya said. "I'm going too…" she touched Sandor's shoulder and stood.

"All right," Sandor stood now. "Tomorrow after you all meet…?" he looked at his siblings.

"Of course," said Jaime, placing his left hand on Brienne's elbow. "Goodnight," and he led her down the hall to the doorway. His hand fell once they were in the dark corridor. "You grew quiet. Are you sure nothing's wrong?"

"I was just thinking about your drinking."

"My drinking?" he almost laughed.

"Yes. You seem to be doing it more and more."

"Does it bother you?"

"Not really. My father always drank to excess…it's more that I've seen you drinking more than usual."

Jaime looked at her. "Well, perhaps I've had more reason to. But I can slow it if it means something to you."

She returned his look. "Maybe."

He nodded. "I'll be more mindful, then."

She smiled…and though she had no desire to change who he was, and realized that he had every right to drink, the significance of the fact that he offered to alter his behavior to make her more comfortable was not lost on her.

They reached her room and Brienne looked circumspect. "Do you want to come in?"

"Yes," he said. "But only for a minute."

She looked at him and opened the door, wondering what he meant. She went in and threw a log on the fire, feeling his gaze heavy on her. She turned, wiping her palms on her pants. She smiled crookedly. "What?"

He went to her…reached and cupped her face, rubbing his thumb along her cheekbone, eyes on her mouth. Jaime leaned in and claimed her lips softly. Their mouths played in tandem, never terribly deep…and he then pulled away, dropping his hand. "When you're ready," he said, backing away.

"What?"

"You're not ready."

She swallowed, then smiled slightly. "No, I don't suppose I am."

He nodded. "It can wait. Goodnight, Brienne,.."

"Goodnight, Jaime," she replied. But then she went to him again and kissed him once more. "Thank you for understanding."

"No need to thank me. It'll be sweeter when it happens," he opened the door, then closed it behind him softly with a click.

* * *

He went to his room and closed the door. He went to the window…the light snow falling and creating an iridescent glow in the air. The moon shone softly on the white crested fields…and it was lovely.

Jaime sighed and rested his forehead on the glass. It had been a wonderful day.

He pulled back and took the hand off…what a wonderful thing for Arya to do. And he thought that he should do something for her.

She was helping with Sandor.

She had helped him numerous times now…

But what she could need or want escaped him. He loved her, truly. She was the sister he never had.

And he almost took her for granted now. Laughing, being there for him and Sandor, his brother. The love that he had for this family was so pure and innocent that he hardly knew how to process it all.

Cersei's love had been toxic. A pull that bade him to her, to try and make her be that purity that he longed for. An honorable one.

Brienne was everything good and honorable, as was Arya.

Sandor, too, in his own way.

Tyrion was tainted by the Lannister name, but he had escaped much of the poison.

Jaime, however, always felt it pulsing through his body like blood.

And this family….it was a letting of the poison. It was a rebirth of sorts. Fragile though his love was for Brienne, his love for his adopted siblings was fierce and true. He felt as though nothing would break it. He would be forever willfully tethered to them. He would die for all of them, he thought.

But he didn't need to. Perhaps that was the freedom. He always thought that he'd die for Cersei because he knew she'd expect it of him.

Brienne, Arya, Sandor…they would not want him to, and perhaps that was why he knew he would.

He went to his bed and sat on the edge. What would she want that he could offer?

He'd need to think about it.

And he laid down after taking his boots off. He looked at the ceiling. Tomorrow would be an interesting day.

* * *

He didn't go to breakfast. He was sitting by the window thinking…and there was a soft rap on the door.

Jaime stood and opened it. "Good morning," he smiled at Brienne.

"You weren't at breakfast. Are you all right?"

"I'm fine," and he stepped aside so that she could come in.

"Sure?"

"Yes. When is the meeting?"

"Shortly. Arya and Sandor were very concerned."

"Were they?" he pulled his coat on.

"Yes. They insisted that I come. Not that I needed convincing," she smiled, then sat at his chair by the window, looking out. "You have a better view than I do."

"Jealous?" he went over to her, placed his hand on the back of the chair, leaned over, and kissed her mouth softly.

She smiled into his mouth. "No. Well…perhaps," and she pulled away. "Are you ready for the meeting?"

"As ready as I'll be," and he sat on the bed. "Can I ask you something?"

"Of course," she turned so that she was facing him fully.

"I want to do something for Arya. But I don't know what. Any ideas?"

She smirked at him. "Like give her a present?"

"Not exactly. Something that she'd appreciate."

"Why not ask Sandor? Or Lady Sansa?"

He nodded. "I will. But I wanted to ask you."

She shrugged. "I honestly don't know. Maybe Jon. They're close."

His mouth set.

"What?"

"Nothing…I'm just feeling somewhat resentful about Jon Snow. So much hinges on him."

"It's not his fault…"

But Jaime did not seemed to be convinced. "Some of it is. He's been incredibly indecisive…and it just seems as though he's avoiding things to a ridiculous degree."

Brienne considered him a moment. "He's unsure of himself. Do you know…" she paused. "Do you know what he is?"

He looked at her quite directly. "You mean, his parentage?"

She nodded.

"Do you know?"

She lowered her gaze. "I know some of it."

"Which part?"

"I know that he is Targaryen and Stark…but not the particulars."

He swallowed. He had promised Arya wouldn't say anything, but Brienne already knew the material point. "He's the son of Lyanna Stark and Rhaegal Targaryen. And they were married, so he's not a bastard."

Her mouth fell open somewhat. "Who knows this?"

"Arya. Sandor. Bran. Tyrion. Sansa….you and I. As far as I know, that's all…but I'd wager Davos knows."

"He's the rightful King."

"Is he? He doesn't want it."

"But duty…"

"I know," Jaime stood and went to the window, looking out. "But perhaps there is something to what a man wants. What a woman needs. If Jon doesn't want it, he should be allowed to relinquish it and station someone else who does."

"Like, Daenerys Targaryen?" she asked.

He looked at her. "Or Sansa Stark."

Brienne regarded him quizzically a moment. "How did we arrive on this topic?"

He thought, then smiled. "I want to do something for Arya."

She nodded. "Don't let anyone else hear you speak about such things, Jaime. It's treasonous."

"I no longer care…my loyalty and duty now belong to only my family, and perhaps, those my family care for. If Daenerys Targaryen wants to chop my head off for treason, so be it," he smiled and held out his hand.

She took and stood. "I believe we need to get going."

"Of course, my Lady," and he led her from the room.

They walked into the map room and everyone turned to look at them. They must have some of the last to arrive.

"Ser Jaime," Sansa nodded. "Please, come here. We are reviewing the strategy," she motioned for him to stand to her left. Jon was on her right, and he appeared to be giving out orders.

"We expect her to arrive either tomorrow or the next day. We have our scorpions here," he pointed to a spot on the map. "There are three in all, one hidden just beyond the rise here," he pointed. "And the other on this side," he pointed.

"We are sending Davos and Sam to greet the Queen. I will be just behind, waiting here," she said. "Along with Ser Brienne," she nodded at Brienne. "And Ser Jaime, if that's agreeable to you," Sansa looked at him.

Jaime was taken aback. "I beg your pardon, my Lady. What did you say I'd be doing?"

"That was my purpose in asking you here. Jon is directing this flank," she pointed at the center. "Brienne this," she pointed to the right. "And you will be commanding the left flank," she looked back to him. "And since it is unwise to send either Jon or Lord Tyrion to the Queen, you, Brienne, and I will be speaking with her."

"Me?" he breathed, stunned beyond reason.

"Well, you'll be there, not so much to negotiate, but to act as commander and protector. And should she refuse to negotiate, we will fight with the armies laid out as I just said. If she agrees, then we can adjourn to this room, where I hope every person here will join us," she looked around.

Jaime looked at Brienne, who smiled and nodded at him. Then he looked at Arya, who was beaming at him. He then turned back to Sansa. "Might I have a word, Lady Stark?"

"Of course," she said with a nod. "Let's suspend for an hour. Ser Jaime, we can move to this room," she canted her head to a small room full of books just off the main room.

Jaime went inside and sat at the smallish table, utterly flummoxed by the happenings.

Sansa came in and sat across from him. "I take it you're surprised."

"To put it mildly."

She smiled. "Well, you've commanded armies before. Successfully, I might add. It seemed silly to waste your talent, especially when we are short on it," she paused. "Though perhaps we should have made this decision a bit earlier…we only thought of it yesterday."

"My Lady, I feel as though we should think about this. It wasn't that long ago that I was fighting on Cersei's side, and the Queen does not like me at all…I murdered her father. A man I was sworn to protect."

"You'll forgive Arya," was her reply.

"Forgive Arya? What for?"

"She told me, in the strictest confidence, your story about the Mad King. As for Cersei, you killed her. Jaime, if I may speak plainly, I really feel as though you are the best, most qualified person to do this job," she smiled. "However, if you are determined to disappoint me, then I'll have someone else do it."

"Not at all, I assure you," he swallowed. "I'm happy to help. Can you tell me where Tyrion, Arya, and Sandor will be during this?"

"Lord Tyrion will be in here, waiting for us should she choose diplomacy. Arya has not said where she'd prefer to be, nor has Ser Sandor. I imagine they'll be together."

"Can they fight on the left flank, with me?"

She smiled. "If they are agreeable, of course."

He thought of Brienne…he'd want to be by her as well…he did not trust anyone but himself to defend her. He nodded. "One last thing, Lady Stark."

"Yes?"

"I am wanting to do something for Arya…but I'm at a bit of a loss. Have you, as her sister, any ideas?"

Sansa sat back. "You love her very much, don't you?"

He nodded. "I do, yes. And Sandor."

She smiled at him. "Ser Jaime, should we make it through this, what are your plans?"

"My plan, if my Lady is agreeable," he nodded at her. "Is to remain at Winterfell for the winter, and then decide where to go come spring."

"And would you consider staying here, indefinitely?"

"I …" he furrowed his brow. "Why?"

"Well, because it's lovely to see the Stark family growing, and it would be a pity to have us dispersed again. I think that, should you and Ser Brienne decide to stay, Arya might. And that would mean the world to me."

He swallowed. "I certainly don't want to disappoint you. But I cannot make a promise until I've spoken with Brienne. And since we are in a fragile state yet…"

"Understood. Please, just consider it," Sansa smiled. "And I have an idea for Arya."


	16. Chapter 16

He woke with a start.

Jaime was panting, sweating…he looked around. It was dark yet.

He was in Winterfell…his mind registering everything that he'd been through quickly as he regained composure.

He had had a terrible dream…

He closed his eyes after he sat up, thinking about what he'd dreamt of.

He had been in King's Landing, and the Mad King was sitting on the throne. He was yelling to the pyromancer, _Burn them! Burn them all!_

Jaime had drove his sword into the man's back and turned to the throne.

And Daenerys Targaryen was sitting there, a savage look on her face. He took his sword and walked up to the Iron Throne, his eyes never leaving her face.

"Are you sure you want to do that?" she sneered.

He didn't answer.

"Jaime," someone said softly, and a memory of a happier time filled his thoughts.

He looked to the right, the Mountain was there, and Brienne stood in chains. "Brienne," he whispered. He went to her, but the Mountain had a knife to her throat. He watched as a lone tear fell down her cheek.

"What are you going to do, Jaime Lannister?" asked Daenerys.

"What do you want?" he looked back at her.

"It doesn't matter what I want."

"You can order the command."

"What do _you_ want?" she asked him.

"I want Brienne to be freed."

She laughed. "And what about everyone else?"

"Everyone…?" he looked behind him…and suddenly he was standing outside of Winterfell, and the enormous dragon was spiraling overhead. "No…" he breathed.

And the beast unleashed its fire, setting Winterfell aflame. He turned, and Brienne lay dead at the Mountain's feet. The Throne was empty, standing in the field. It was an odd sight. Jaime went to her…knelt at her side. He looked up at Gregor Clegane. "Strike me dead now," he said.

But the man turned and left him there with Brienne dead and the Throne empty…

Winterfell's spires collapsed with a crash.

And Jaime awoke.

He got up, rubbing his face. What did it mean? It felt prophetic in some way…would Winterfell burn?

He couldn't stand it. He shrugged his coat on over his underthings and left the room…he'd check on her. He needed to check. Jaime walked to Brienne's room and slowly opened the door.

There she was, curled on the bed.

He smiled. It never ceased to amaze him just how small she appeared to be in sleep. He closed the door behind him and walked over to her. It felt intimate…perhaps even more than had they slept together.

Jaime looked for the chair that he would sit in when this was his room, too, and pulled it silently to the bed next to her. He sat.

How he loved this woman. It felt as though he was choking, he loved her so. He could not believe that he was fortunate enough to have won her heart…for so long they danced around one another, always teasing that depth of feeling but never owning it. He, bound by some foolish loyalty to Cersei, she by her selflessness.

He watched her sleep, and he leaned back in the chair, wrapping his arms around himself. The fire had long died out. He thought for a moment about crawling in next to her, but that would likely be poorly received. He closed his eyes.

"Jaime?"

His neck hurt as he slowly opened his eyes…his back was stiff. He looked around, and saw, to his astonishment, Brienne sitting in front of him. He smiled. "Brienne."

"What are you doing?" she smiled.

He looked around, and felt the taut muscles scream in his neck. "I …" what was he doing? He rubbed his neck. "I hurt all over," he said, mostly to himself.

"You slept in a chair, for gods know how long. What were you thinking?"

"Yes…Now I remember. I had a nightmare, and you were in it…so I came here to check that you were all right. And I …" he looked at her, a crooked smile on his face. "I fell asleep."

"Why didn't you just come to bed?"

He swallowed, his face falling. "Well, I didn't want to be…intrusive."

She rolled her eyes. "Come here," she moved so that he could sit next to her on the bed. Jaime, a bit hesitant, went over to her and sat. She directed him to look at the fire while she massaged his back and neck. He moaned. "Oh gods…what did I do to myself?"

"And on the eve of a potential battle, Ser Jaime? Not your finest moment," but there was a smile in her voice.

"No."

"What was the dream?"

"It…well. I dreamt that Winterfell was set on fire and the Mountain killed you," he sounded as though he didn't want to discuss it.

"Gregor Clegane was killed by your sword."

"I know. I was there, recall?" She laughed a touch, her breath on the back of his neck. He shivered slightly from the sensation. "Thank you, I'm fine," he moved away…he was afraid that he'd become too aroused by her ministrations.

"You're sure?"

"Mmhm," he replied, and stood.

Brienne's face fell. "You're leaving?"

He looked at her. "You want me to stay?" his voice held something like hope.

"Of course I do."

He smiled, and sat back in the chair. "All right," he looked at her with an earnest stare. "Brienne, you're to be commanding the right flank."

"Yes."

"And I'm on the left…"

She nodded.

"I don't like it."

"Why?" she furrowed her brow.

"Well, because we're on opposite sides of the battlefield."

"That's where I'm stationed."

Jaime shrugged. "So? What if I moved a bit closer?"

"That's not the command."

"Must you _always_ do what you're told?" he sighed.

She blanched a bit. "It's my duty and my honor we are discussing, Jaime. I won't allow it to be compromised."

"Your honor needn't be compromised by moving to the left," he replied. There was exasperation in his statement. He understood that it wasn't as simple as merely moving vaguely elsewhere to Brienne.

She stared at him a moment. "While I understand that you're concerned, my aim must be to follow what Lady Sansa commands."

He sighed a touch. One of the things he loved about this woman was now inhibiting his aim, that is, to ensure her safety. He nodded slightly. No point in arguing, no matter what he desired. "Yes of course," he tersely replied.

Her mouth set. Deciding to change the subject, "Have you decided what to do about Arya?"

"I have."

"And?"

"It's a surprise."

"Is it? For everyone, then?" she smiled.

"Can't risk it getting round," he stood. "I think we ought to ready ourselves. No doubt this whole thing will be getting on rather soon now."

Brienne nodded and stood. "I'll meet you in the hall."

Jaime left to dress, thinking about his dream. It made him feel sick.

* * *

Tyrion was sitting at the head table with Lady Sansa when Brienne walked in. She went up and sat next to him. "What will you say should she choose diplomacy?"

He looked at her. "I'll say exactly what has been discussed."

"How do you know that she won't kill you?"

"I don't. But, I suppose, I'm willing to risk it. I've been alive far longer than anyone expected," he took a sip of his drink.

She looked out into the room. Unease was coursing through the air. "Everyone is tired of being afraid."

"Are you?"

She shrugged. "I cannot deny that I'm weary. It's been quite a journey. I find myself longing to be still."

Tyrion nodded, though she didn't notice. "It'll be all right, Ser Brienne. One way or another."

She looked at him and offered a smile smile, and just then Jon Snow came in and sat at the table. He whispered something to Sansa and then looked around. "The Queen will be here within the hour," he said. "We'll need to prepare. Now."

Tyrion cleared his throat and stood, leaving the table.

Brienne looked around for Jaime, but couldn't see him. She swallowed, then stood to meet her charges.

* * *

"Arya!" Jaime called as he walked to the courtyard.

She turned, then waited for him to catch up.

"Where will you be during all this?"

"Sansa told me the left flank."

"Is that your plan?"

"I don't really have a plan," she looked around.

"I asked her specifically to have you with me."

"Why? I operate better alone."

"Because," he took a step nearer. "I want to know that you're safe."

She smiled wryly. "I'm always safe."

"I know it. But it's better if you're close."

"Better for whom?"

"Me. Where's Sandor?"

"I don't know," she looked around, then turned back to him, her eyes on the ground. "Look, Jaime. I know that you're concerned. But you needn't be," and she found his eyes. "I'm fine. I won't make any stupid mistakes."

"I don't want to risk it. Not when I have nearly everything I've ever wanted," he was sincere as he looked earnestly at her. "Arya, I love you. And Sandor. I don't want either of you hurt."

"And what about you, hm? Who's protecting you from harm? What if you are hurt? What about Sandor and I?"

He swallowed. He hadn't thought about it that way. "I …" perhaps because he never felt as though he truly mattered to anyone, save perhaps Tyrion, he hadn't considered what his injury, his _death_ might mean to people. "Understood," he nodded. "Please take care of yourself and Sandor."

She smiled, then hugged him.

And Jaime wrapped his arms around her, kissing the top of her head.

"I love you, Jaime," she pulled away. "And you'd better be careful, too," she turned from him and walked through the gates.

"It's good to see that you've endeared yourself to them."

Jaime turned toward the source of the voice, just behind him. "Bran," he whispered. "I …how are you?"

"I'm always fine."

Jaime nodded. "I haven't seen you."

"No. I keep to myself mostly."

"Are you…are you upset about my being close with Arya?"

"How could I be? I'm hardly a brother to her. Jon isn't, either. She's got Sansa, but Sansa…" he looked away. "Sansa is of her own mind. Arya was always very concerned about family. And now she has it."

He nodded, swallowing. "Thank you."

"Go defend Winterfell for the last time."

* * *

And though the air was cold, there was palpable energy in it…it nearly hummed. Everyone was at their post.

There was a roar overhead, and Jaime looked up. The beast, as big as ever, flew over Winterfell. It landed with a thud on the white landscape.

The troops were marching toward them, perfectly in synch.

Jaime placed his hand on Widow's Wail and glanced over at Brienne.

She wasn't looking at him.

He couldn't blame her. What with an enormous dragon to behold.

He watched as Daenerys dismounted the beast and sauntered over. She was flanked by two people who stopped and walked forward, leaving her behind.

Davos and Sam emerged, walking forward.

They met the Targaryen-Colored and began speaking. Jaime strained to hear what was being said, but to no avail.

He glanced at Sansa, to his right. Brienne was on the other side of her. Their looks were indiscernible.

A few minutes passed thusly…finally Davos turned to the three of them and nodded.

Jaime swallowed. He felt Sansa begin to walk. He rested his left hand on his sword and followed. Daenerys was meeting them in the center with one of her soldiers. Jaime recognized him…Grey…something.

She was eyeing them all skeptically as she stopped and Sansa walked up to her. "Your Grace," she nodded.

"Lady Stark," replied Daenerys. "It seems we have reached some sort of tenuous agreement, at least so far as we can speak."

"I wasn't aware that, as Northerners, we are not allowed to speak with you."

The Queen smirked at her. "Of course you may speak to me. But you abandoned King's Landing."

"Our agreement was finished. I saw no reason to stay."

"Except that it was my initial days of reign, and it is good policy to remain while a monarch settles in."

Sansa canted her head. "You required _me_ to help you settle in?"

"I required Jon. I required my Hand, who has deserted me and is now here with you."

"They are here, yes."

"And what do you suppose I should do about that?" she folded her hands in front of her.

"As we are here to, I assume, negotiate an independent North, not much."

Daenerys cocked a brow. "Not much. I haven't seen Jon in weeks. My Hand has disappointed me again and again. You stand here alongside Jaime Lannister, of all people. Tell me Lady Stark, how would you deal with those who have either betrayed or disappointed you so utterly?"

"As I have done. I'd listen to them first then make a decision."

The Queen smiled. "I've lost…nearly everything in this quest. Listening to the qualms of those whom I've previously listened to is not high on my list, especially when I cannot trust them to be honest." She turned to Grey Worm. "Bring him."

Jaime watched as the soldier turned and walked toward the back of the assembled army. A moment later he reemerged with someone…

He heard Brienne gasp. Jaime looked closer. "Gods be good," he breathed.

It was Podrick Payne.

"This is a squire to Lady Brienne, as I understand. While he matters but little in the grand scheme of things, he matters to her," Daenerys nodded at Brienne. "What I demand, in exchange for this man's life as well as a full retreat, is counsel with Jon Snow. And Tyrion Lannister to be brought back to King's Landing."

Sansa didn't speak.

"You have nothing to say?"

"What about Northern Independence?"

"That will be conditional, even with my armies retreating."

Sansa looked at Jaime, then back to the Queen. "Might I have some time to confer?"

She nodded. "You have one hour," and she turned, leaving them there.


	17. Chapter 17

_A/N: so sorry about the delay. Bit of writer's block. Thank you to JaninaM8 for literally saving this __story._

* * *

Brienne couldn't feel her legs. She knew that she was walking…she felt herself being moved by something…but had she been asked, 'legs' weren't what she would have said was moving her.

She was following Sansa into Winterfell…there was a heavy silence all around. Not everything that Daenerys said was unexpected, but the fact that she had Pod was. Brienne could not expect Sansa to sacrifice the plan for her squire…so it surely meant that Pod would be executed.

And Brienne's sense of guilt rose.

She followed them all into the map room where Tyrion Lannister stood, looking for the Queen. "What's happened?"

Sansa approached him and sat at the table, Jon, Brienne, Jaime, and Davos following suit. "She has a prisoner. And she said that she'd leave if she spoke with Jon, and took you with her to King's Landing."

"Who's the prisoner?"

"Podrick Payne," replied Jaime, looking nowhere.

Tyrion's mouth fell agape. "Well. I suppose this changes things."

"What do you mean?" asked Jon.

"Obviously I need to go with her. It makes the most sense…and Podrick is really so young. He has his life in front of him."

"How does it make the most sense?" Sansa asked. "You'll be put to death."

"In exchange for Daenerys' retreat? I'd call that a fair exchange," he smiled. "Don't think that I haven't known that this is a real possibility…that it always has been."

"You're not going."

Everyone looked at Jaime.

Tyrion smiled. "I'll not be dissuaded."

"You will. I won't allow it." he looked around. "Where is Arya?"

Sansa looked around. "I'm not sure. Why?"

"Because…I need to speak with her," he looked at Brienne. "I'll be back after I find her."

She watched him leave, wondering what he could be up to. "Ser Jaime needn't be here to continue, since time is of the essence."

"He's leading a third of the army. He needs to be here," said Tyrion, walking toward the table with the map spread out.

Brienne sat in a chair near the table. "I'll worry about Pod. Continue with diplomacy and ensuring that Lord Tyrion isn't taken to King's Landing."

Sansa looked at Brienne. "Very well," she said softly.

"Dany wants to speak with me," Jon said, mostly to himself.

"That's what she said when I spoke with her, yes."

"I should. I should, if only to avoid all this…" he gesticulated.

"Jon listen to me," Sansa sounded concerned. "What good will talking do? She's desperate, and desperation does terrible things to people."

Jon looked at her. "What if she tries to hurt…?" he swallowed. "I'm sorry, Sansa. I need to try. I feel like I'm the only one who can," he sat down. "I'll speak with her."

Everyone looked at each other, then at Sansa. "I don't trust her."

"I know."

He offered a lingering look, then left the room.

Brienne stood again and sighed, avoiding everyone's gaze as she left.

It was her fault that Pod was gone…and she would mend it if it was the last thing she did.

* * *

Jaime was running through the castle looking for Arya. He had an idea, but it would only work with her involvement. His breath came fast as he hurried along…he couldn't remember where she said she'd be.

_Did_ she say?

He left the castle and went to the courtyard, panic in his veins. He wasn't worried that something had happened to her, rather, if he'd be able to find her in time.

And what was to be done about Podrik? It was not to be borne.

"Jaime."

He stopped and turned. "Arya," he breathed and went to her, wrapping her in a fierce hug. "Where were you?"

She pulled away. "She's not well."

"Who?"

"The Queen. I was spying on her, and she's not well…she's muttering to herself. Paranoid…"

His face fell. "Like her father."

"I don't know. But she's not to be trusted. No one can go near her without proper protection."

"Jon said he wanted to go."

She shook her head. "Not alone he can't."

Jaime sighed, then his expression changed. "What if…" he smiled. She wouldn't like this.

* * *

Brienne strode along the battlements, looking down into the gathered troops. Pod was there, somewhere. She felt her eyes burn. How _could_ this have happened? It was her fault. All of it.

She looked beyond the rise to where the dragon's wings could be seen. They were folding in on themselves, and the Queen was walking toward the lone tent set up for her reprieve.

Brienne sighed, swallowed, and turned away. Perhaps she could find some help infiltrating the Queen's forces. She was too obvious a person. Too large and lumbering.

She thought about Arya, and how small and nimble, even quiet, she was.

She set out to find Arya.

* * *

"She'll be arrested for regicide," spat Sansa. "You cannot agree to this," she looked at her sister. "You'll be put in a cell and then…"

"Who will be in charge?" Arya asked. "You will. You're the Queen of the North, and it will happen here."

"And do you think that I can be a part of this? Plotting the murder of a sitting Queen? What does that say, hm?" Sansa looked at Jaime. "You cannot allow this. Thank the gods we're not at the full council…" she rubbed her face, sitting.

Tyrion, Jon, Jaime, and Sansa all sat at the table while Arya stayed standing. Her fists were clenched. "Jon," she implored. "It's you who needs to make this decision."

"Why me?"

"You know why."

He shook his head. "What if…what if you don't kill her?"

"What?"

"We have things that will render her…incapable of rule. Make her sick, but not dead. The Maesters have all sorts of tonics."

Tyrion took a long draught of wine. "Will she retreat, though, simply because she is ill? And aren't we simply postponing the inevitable?"

"She's angry because we left," began Jaime. "Perhaps if she leaves now and we draw up an agreement for an independent North to be sent by crow to King's Landing, she will arrive there with a better view on things."

"No need to fight, then," observed Sansa.

"Just so," nodded Jaime.

"But she still may not release Podrick. She may still want Tyrion," said Jon, standing. "What do we do, then?"

"I'll go," Tyrion said.

"No. You won't. I already told you."

Tyrion rolled his eyes at his brother. "Let's try Jon's idea."

And Arya smiled.

* * *

"Arya!"

She turned. Brienne was hurrying toward her. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing. I need your help," she breathed. "I need someone to help me get Pod."

Arya sucked in a breath. "I'm busy at the moment."

"Please. This is all my fault. If I find where he is, can you help me?"

She hesitated a touch. Then nodded. "Of course. But it'll need to wait," and she walked passed her.

"Where are you going?"

"To see Samwell Tarly."

* * *

Jaime appeared a bit reticent as he watched Jon Snow sheath the small dagger. It needed to be placed just so.

And then Jon dipped the cloth, placed it to his lips…either in love, or in battle, Daenerys would absorb this poison.

Jaime walked right behind Jon Snow as Daenerys strode to the center of the field. She appeared to have an agenda, herself. "Why is he here?" she nodded to Jaime.

"He's here to ensure things are spoken of without anger."

"Without anger. I shouldn't be angry that you abandoned King's Landing before I returned?"

"No one knew where you were, Your Grace. With all due respect, you went a bit mad."

This made her flinch. "I'm not mad."

"Begging your pardon, but you burned three streets in the city and tore the roof off of the Keep. You killed at least three hundred innocent people."

She swallowed. "They killed my dragon."

"Of course you were upset. But your temper got the better of you, and as a Queen, you need someone, if not yourself, to keep that in check."

"Well, I would, expect my Hand left as well. To join the North and Sansa."

Jon Snow smiled a touch. "Tyrion did not want to be a party to the madness."

"He has no choice."

"Is that so?"

Jaime waited, his hand touching the hilt of Widow's Wail. He assumed a more combative stance.

"Yes, it is. I want him to be released to me. But only after we finish our business here."

"What business can you mean, Your Grace? Either you are going to deny the North its rightful independence and attack Winterfell, or you can agree to a truce and head back to King's Landing where you rule the six kingdoms."

She paled. "My business is not limited to bargaining with the Warden of the North," she said this very deliberately.

"Then what?"

"You have a claim to the Iron Throne. Who knows this and what are your plans?"

Jon Snow shifted his weight. "I have no plans to stake my claim. It's yours, as long as you allow an independent North and free Podrick Payne."

"And what of Tyrion Lannister?"

"He stays here."

"So the North gets everything it wants, while I must retreat empty handed. Is that it?"

"No. You have my word that I will never seek the crown."

"Your word," she smiled. "Is not worth much."

"It's all I am," Jon Snow replied.

Jaime swallowed. This was the moment…

Daenerys stepped forward. "What else?"

"Beg your pardon?"

"What else will you offer me?"

"What else can my Queen desire?"

She looked at his mouth. "A kiss."

Jaime's face betrayed the ghost of a smile. He watched as Jon Snow took a step forward, touched the Queen's cheek, and bent down.

There was nothing passionate about it, the slightest of touches…it mingled a moment, then broke apart. "Will you agree, then?"

Daenerys's face was different as she stepped back. "I shall leave Winterfell posthaste. I'll need a council to join me in King's Landing in a month to draw up plans. Tyrion will stay here and act as chief negotiator, but he is to accompany the council you choose to King's Landing, or there will be no truce. Remind him of my mercy," she turned away.

"And Pod…the squire?"

She turned. "Dead."

Jaime's face fell. "No," he choked.

Jon Snow turned to him. "Let's go," and he stalked away.

Jaime couldn't feel his legs as he walked back to Winterfell. Dead…it wasn't possible. Could she be lying? Had he died in a matter of hours? They entered the courtyard where most were waiting. He looked around for Brienne…

She wasn't there.

"What happened?" asked Sansa.

Jon Snow was wiping his mouth with a cloth. "She's leaving." And then he reached up and peeled his face off, revealing Arya's face. "And Tyrion stays. But she said that Pod is dead."

"She was given the poison?"

Arya nodded, looking at Jon who emerged from a shadowy corner. "She gave you a kiss."

"You mean she gave _you_ a kiss," said Tyrion.

"She thought it was Jon," Arya looked at them all. "She's giving us a month to assemble a council and go to King's Landing. She wants you, Tyrion, to go specifically. And whoever else we want."

"I'll go," said Sansa.

"You won't," Jon turned to her. "You're needed here to rule the North."

"And you can do that just fine," she said.

"You're not going to King's Landing, Sansa. I won't let you."

"_Let me_," she hissed. "Who is in charge here, Jon?"

"You are," he looked pained. "But…"

"But what?" Sansa's voice held heat.

He shook his head, then it fell. "I'm in love with you," and without looking at anyone, left the courtyard.

* * *

Brienne was attempting to blend in with the troops. She was standing by a fire pit, listening to the men growl about the cold and the fact that there weren't any women to fuck. There were Unsullied who were speaking in their Astapori Valyrian…Brienne couldn't understand them, but it didn't matter. She had an idea where Pod would be.

She inched her way around, trying to be as inconspicuous as someone her height could be.

She was waking passed the Queen's tent when she overheard Daenerys's voice. Brienne paused.

"There was something amiss about the whole thing…and I don't feel well."

"Then we should get you back now," said a voice Brienne didn't recognize.

"I agree…regroup. Perhaps we came up here too quickly."

"Well, ain't you a biggun?"

Brienne whipped around. "Who are you?"

"I might ask you the same," he smiled a toothless grin. "Maybe we should ask Khaleesi…"


End file.
